


How Can You Say You Love Me?

by Blue_Equinox_2



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Anorexia, Anxiety, Crying Derek, Crying Stiles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cutting, Depressed Stiles, Depression, Derek to the Rescue, Eventual Happy Ending, Hospitals, Insomnia, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Not Beta Read, Possibly Triggering, Purging, Read at Your Own Risk, Sad, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles, Stiles Stilinski has an Eating Disorder, Stressed, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Wendigos, graphic descriptions of self-harm, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:12:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 99,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Equinox_2/pseuds/Blue_Equinox_2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Stile's mother died Stiles turned to a less than healthy coping strategy. Cutting and restricting food has been his way of coping for several years and sees no end to it in sight. Enter Derek Hale. After seeing the mysterious and brooding Derek, Stiles becomes love struck but the voices in his head tell him that Derek will never return his affections. When Stiles falls prey to his old habits, something is different this time, he's not sure that he wants to ever stop. Cue Derek to save Stiles from himself.</p><p>or... </p><p>The one where Stiles has an eating disorder and serious self-harm complex. Things get really bad but he learns that the resident sourwolf might be the one to save him, if he lets himself be loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I re-wrote this because the first version was pretty bad because I wrote it a long time ago. I like it this way better!

February 12th. He was only ten years old. Too young to truly understand what was happening, but he did. His mother was sick his dad told him, the doctors used big words that he didn't understand. All he knew was that his mom wasn't smiling the way she used to anymore. She was tired and fell asleep when Stiles read the books his teacher gave him to read to a parent. She was in soft pink pajamas but they were too big on her frail body. Stiles didn't understand when she looked right past him or didn't ask how his day was at school like she used to.

His mom had small tv screens that made beeping noises and sometimes stopped and then all the nurses would come in and push him out of the room. Those were the times when he would cry, scared because his mom was sick and his dad was working. Family friends would pick him up and take him home, feed him dinner, and after a while Martha became like a second mother to him and Bob would take him to little league baseball for his games on Thursday nights. Scott always cheered him up when they were together and Melissa gave him really good mac n' cheese when he would spend the nights.

But his mom was still sick. He spent the time he could by her side, running down to the gift shop to bring her flowers and stuffed animals, he even saved enough money for a special present. On Saturdays they watched cartoons together, curled up on her small bed, wrapped together under the blankets. It was those types of days when he didn't remember that his mom was sick, the last few good days that they would have together. Sometimes she would yell and cry and sometimes she would laugh for a long time even when he didn't say something funny. Other times she would stay quiet for a whole day. Those days were the bad days, when he would get home from school and be told that she wasn't feeling good enough from him to visit. It was confusing, why was his mom sick? Why couldn't they make her feel better? Stiles felt everything, sad, tired, confused. He just wanted his mom back.

His dad stopped talking as much and didn't always tuck him into bed at night. Sometimes there would be big bottles of adult drinks that his dad would leave on the table and he knew that his dad wanted to be alone. His dad worked more and wasn't around a lot. There was one day that he would never forget, but never want to remember. He came upstairs with flowers and a balloon, a big smile on his face, he got three stickers in class for getting all of his spelling words right! But when he walked to her room there was something wrong. There were doctors and the nurses and lots of noise. He instantly started crying, it always scared him when this happened.

His dad wasn't with him when they pulled the curtains shut. When his dad made it to the hospital Stiles was hysterically sobbing. Years later Stiles would still not forgive his dad for not being there when his mom died.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a game, but even on the field he can't escape his demons.

“Stilinski! This is not nap time!” shouted coach. The lacrosse team was hearing the same pep talk that they had been hearing for the last three years and Stiles couldn’t help but drift off. Yeah whatever, it never even applied for him, it only meant something to the guys who actually got play time. His brain was shouting at him, calling him weak and pathetic, telling him that if he was more like Scott or Jackson (minus the douche part) he would actually get to play instead of sitting there like wannabe. 

“Yeah whatever” Stiles muttered as a response. Scott was too bust texting Allison for his werewolf-y senses to detect the sadness radiating from him and the way his breathing was hitching a little at the end, the first indicator that tonight was going to suck. 

The game was already won, Creston High had no chance to the six points that Scott, Danny, Boyd, and Jackson had already scored. Coach must have figured what the hell, lets give Stilinski a chance to play, even he can’t screw this one up. Stiles suited up and swapped places with Boyd, a risky move even for coach. Whatever, he was going to take every chance he got to actually get some play time. 

Seven minutes into the second half of the game, Creston was already making a comeback. The score was now three to six and Coach was shouting things that Stiles tried really hard to ignore. Two of the goals had been his fault, he really just wasn’t as fast as the other players. “Stupid” the voices repeated, “worthless” they chanted and “failure” they screamed. When a particularly buff player ran into him, Stiles took the chance to get out. He dropped onto one knee and sat there shaking, not to put on an act to seem like he was hurt, he was really just trying to hold himself together. Scott trotted over with the med kit while Jackson and Coach Finstock rolled their eyes and began to meander over. 

“Hey, Stiles you ok bro?” Scott questioned. While Stiles trusted Scott more than anyone else, he knew that even Scott wouldn’t accept him for the weak human that he was. So instead of telling the truth he mumbled out, “My wrist hurts”. Scott gave him the glare but handed over an ice pack. “Lets get you off the field then”. 

 

While the game continued Stiles grabbed his duffel and walked over to the open locker room door. He stripped down out of his uniform and ditched the pads and helmet. Grabbing his shower bag, knowing that he couldn’t wait until he got home, not in this state, he stepped into the shower stalls. Pulling a curtain behind him he turned the water on and took out an ace bandage and a soap box. 

Standing underneath the shower’s warm spray he sat down and curled into himself, bringing his knees us into his chest. That’s when the waterworks started. It began with a tear for every word that he told himself, fat, ugly, weak, pathetic, the list went on and on. When things got worse, he pulled out his kryptonite. A small little blade from one of his dad’s old razors. It looked rusty but under closer inspection, it was layers of dried and caked blood, a story of every time that he gave in to this deadly addiction. 

“Just one this time” he whispered to himself, “just one”. As he positioned the razor by his hipbone he solidified his intentions. Curling his toes in the anticipation of pain he pressed into his too white skin and dragged, revealing a fine red line. He watched as the blood beaded up and began to trickle down his hip. Okay so just one more, the damage was already done right? So he set up for a second cut, and a third, and then a fourth. He only realized how much time had passed when he heard the thumping of cleats on the tile floor. Panicking, he dried off and attempted to control the bleeding from the particularly deep fourth cut. 

Thankfully the timer ran out on the shower and the water was cut off, silencing the shower room. No one would ever know he was in here. After Coach gave the rundown of the game which thankfully they won, the boys headed home, all going to wait the ten minute drive home to shower in their own bathrooms. 

He dried off and wrapped the bandage around his waist and upper thigh and then proceeded to get dressed. It wasn’t until he was almost to his jeep that he realized he had forgotten his duffel in the stall. Sighing and heading back, he doubled over his trail back to the locker room.

Stepping into the lockers he assumed he was alone so Stiles was scared out of his mind when Scott snuck up soundlessly behind him and tapped on his shoulder. “Holy shit” Stiles screamed, and Scott just looked sheepish. 

“Sorry man” Scott replied, “I just found your bag, planned on dropping it back at your house later”. “S’okay” Stiles offered as a response. They both walked out of the locker room together and just before they parted ways at the two different parking lots Scott looked over at him and stopped walking. Stiles could tell that something was coming and he was just spent so he decided to let it all play out and then he could go home. 

“So…um, I, I’m just worried dude, you know, like, you’ve been acting weird recently and I’m concerned okay?” Scott looked him in the eye and for the first time in a while, Stiles felt cared about. But his defenses came up in a millisecond, Scott couldn’t know about his problems, he couldn’t stand for another person to walk out of his life like Lydia had.  
“Dude, its nothing to worry about, a’okay here in Stilinskiville, just ya know coach, school, werewolves, girls, my dad, it’s a lot to handle especially with three tests on Friday. But, no I’m okay, just stressed, nothing that won’t pass” he offered as an explanation. 

“K Stiles, see you tomorrow man”

“Yeah whatever wolf-boy, see you later” Stiles sighed, glad that that was over.  
He headed towards his jeep and climbed in, taking a deep breath to pull himself together before he started on his drive home. Stiles pressed hard into the cuts on his hip once more to ground himself, turned the key in the ignition and pulled onto the road that would take him home.


	3. Chapter 3

Honestly, it wasn’t uncommon for Stiles to come home to an empty house but it still hurt like a new wound each time. Ever since his mother died his dad had been clingy but after a while, when stiles was old enough o stay home alone, his dad spent more time at the station. 

He sluggishly went up the stairs, his cuts bleeding again he could feel the texture of the wrap on his hips digging into the exposed dermis of his skin. He pulled up some song on his ipod humming along. He went into his bathroom and actually took a shower this tome, washing his skin and hair, relishing the sting from where the soap runs into the open crevices in his skin. 

He’s supposed to be strong, hold everyone together, doesn’t drag his friends into the things he can handle, set an example. But he can’t anymore, he just can’t. 

Stiles takes a double take when Come on Eileen starts to play. It was his mother’s favorite song, and truthfully his too. Some of his best memories were dancing with his mom in the kitchen to this song. He tears up and for the second time that night finds himself about taking his own life. He doesn’t even amount to anything anymore, did he ever in the first place? He isn’t sure. Probably not. 

It’s just that everything he does never seems to be enough. His best intentions just make messes and he has no idea how to put everything back together again. 

Climbing under his sheets Stiles is trembling with emotions that he just doesn’t know what to do with. Sleep comes quickly to his but it isn’t peaceful. 

Tonight is no exception. 

Not even three hours later he wakes himself up by screaming. Another nightmare, he’s used to them but it doesn’t make them any less terrifying each time that he has one. Shaking with tear stained cheeks he lays his head back down on his pillow and silently sobs. 

Stiles knows that he’s not going back to sleep again so he goes downstairs not bothering to step over the squeaky spots in the wood, he doesn’t care if his dad hears him at this point, not that he will, he has the power to sleep through the apocalypse. 

Not that Stiles doesn’t realize that he has problems, trust me he knows that they’re there, it’s more than that. The real problem here is that he’s addicted. Addicted to the stinging burning pain of cutting, the way his stomach growls at his as the pounds melt away, addicted to the bruises he gives himself, addicted to the sadness. At this point it’s all he’s known for nine years, given there was some down time in there where he was almost normal, but not for very long. Old habits have tendencies to die hard, or so he’s heard.


	4. Chapter 4

One of the worst things that Stiles ever realized was that if he killed himself, the world would move on. The sun would set, the moon would come out, the earth would spin, and the stars would all still shine. So why not? Why not commit suicide? 

Stiles is standing on the edge, no particular edge, just one that gives way to a never ending darkness. Both feet planted as he sways back and forth on his heels, deciding if tonight is the night, if now is the end. 

With one last gasp for breath he puts his weight into the balls of his feet and dives into the welcoming black void. 

Screaming Stiles wakes up from the nightmare and curls up into the fetal position breathing erratically with tears streaming down his face. That’s the third nightmare this week. 

He fumbles for his ipod and quickly untangles his ear buds. Turning up his music until the voices in his head are silenced by the deafening loudness, he crumbles to pieces as he relives the night terror. 

As a plan formulates in his head, he quiets his music, coming back to reality. He opens his bedroom window even though its only forty degrees tonight. He has to let the air circulate or else his bedroom will reek. Slipping out of bed Stiles lifts his mattress and there lies his guilty pleasure. 

Grabbing the blade that he unscrewed from a pencil sharpener months ago he walks across his room to assemble the rest of his kit. Gauze in his bottom desk drawer, an ace bandage from his duffel, butterfly strips from his underwear drawer, and a towel from the top shelf in his closet. 

With his fully assembled improv med kit, he sits back down onto his bed and turns on the nightstand lamp. Pulling out a book for an emergency cover-up as to why he’s awake, Stiles turns to the mission at hand. 

Shucking off his pajamas he lays in his underwear in the very cold air in his room. 

Deciding that the hip is too tender to do any more damage to, he looks for other strategic places where he can cut himself and still be able to cover it up. Deciding on his right thigh, he places the towel down and gets straight o business. 

Thighs are a dangerous place to cut Stiles learned years ago. They bleed a lot and with a quick wrist movement, you can end up with a pretty wide and deep gouge in your skin. He knows this from the scars that litter both thighs. Some faded, others still a bright red. 

Unlike all of his previous self-injurious sessions, he doesn’t plan to stop this time. Cut after cut and the blood keeps rushing in frightening amounts, staining the previously tan towel a dark reddish-brown. 

“More, more, more” the voices shout at his and he complies without fighting back. One cut after another, and eventually the endorphins get flowing and he can no longer feel anything. No stinging, no burning sensation, no feeling as he tears through layers of his skin. Just numbness. Eventually he stops. 

Stiles doesn’t know why, maybe he really doesn’t want to die, maybe this is all just to feel in control of his life for an hour. Maybe he does it to make it hurt, maybe he feels that he deserves the pain. Whatever reason it is, he stops, cleans himself up as much as he can, bandages the wounds, and finally pulls his pajamas back on, leaving no evidence of the self-destructive behavior that just occurred. 

And maybe when he puts everything away back into its secret places, maybe he looks out his window as he shuts it and maybe he sees a pair of glowing eyes, or maybe that’s just the dizziness making his see things.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to thank everyone for being so patient with me and chapter six should be up much faster, i hope. No promises though. And this story will be quickly be fading into darkness, more than it already is, but don't worry. Derek is on the horizon!

Time passed as it always does, seemingly slow until you look back and realized how it’s actually flown by. The nightmares still plagued him, and Stiles didn’t think that they’d ever go away. If anything they were getting worse. 

On more than one occasion he screamed himself awake, also waking up his father. His dad would always, without fail, sprint up to his room and comfort the quickly deteriorating teen. 

The phenomenon of the glowing eyes still baffled him, a week had gone by and none of the wolves had confronted him which left Stiles confused beyond belief. It easily could have been Scott; he often came at night to play video games when they were “studying”. 

And don’t get me wrong, Stiles and Scott assured their parents that they actually did study, but the length of time spent studying was never explicitly discussed, so Stiles didn’t think that they weren’t lying, just not providing enough information to prove otherwise. 

It also could have also been Isaac; the kid was living with Scott after all. And there was one situation that he didn’t like to think about, it could have been Peter. That would just be creepy, but he was so he remained a suspect. 

It could have been the twins, but why would they be at his house? And then there was the possibility of Derek. For some reason he didn’t mind the thought of that particular wolf running around his house. 

So maybe Stiles had a slight crush on Derek, it was just a crush. And crushes do what they’ve always done; make a person think that they’ve fallen in love and then make them fall to pieces as their crush finds another person to be with. Promptly leaving the crushee crushed. 

And all in all, it was still a mystery. Another red line, this one from a picture of the gang of supernatural beings plus him on his wall, to his window sill, another unsolved case. 

But everyday Stiles put on his okay face, toughened up for the day, and went to school. In a way he was the lynch pin of the group, holding everyone together. He was supposed to be the brainiest, besides Lydia, the comedian, the go-to man, and the inside person in the sheriff’s office. Quite a lot to actually do, and he managed to do it everyday. 

And nobody ever noticed. Not Scott, not Lydia, not his Dad, or Allison. He always gave himself little pats on the back for a job well done, but they were becoming further apart as despair overtook him. 

More often he found himself indulging in his little secret. He started wearing jeans instead of shorts, and changing in the bathroom stall instead of in front of the whole gym class. 

His grades dropped from the low nineties to the low eighties. He slept less and became more secluded and withdrawn. He didn’t want to pull away but he couldn’t help it. The voices were mean; screaming and taunting Stiles everyday with jeers that picked on his weight, which was way too damn high, his lack of athletic ability, which was truly pathetic, and the ugly, disgusting, gnarly scars that were carved into his body. 

 

Stiles ate less and less each day, desperate to watch the number on the scale go down every day. So what if the hunger mimicked what he believed it would feel like to give birth? The pain was worth it, every stomach spasm and empty rumble was a sign that he was doing something right.

It was only a week later that Stiles was walking around the school during what was normally his lunch period, preferring to burn calories rather than ingest them, that he collapsed, breathing out the word, “Shit” quickly losing consciousness on the cold hard floor. 

When Stiles woke up it was to the sound of a siren blaring and the feeling of a needle in his arm. Freaking out Stiles woke up instantly, looking desperately for something familiar and his eyes landed on Scott. 

Taking his surroundings, he determined that this was the worst case scenario; strapped onto a stretcher, in an ambulance, on the way to the hospital, in a confined space with an angry brooding werewolf. 

“What did I do now?” Stiles asked Scott, trying to lighten the mood in the back of the ambulance.

“Well it’s more of what you didn’t do Stiles” Scott replied coldly. 

And then Stiles knew, and he knew that Scott did too. 

“Why the hell haven’t you been eating?!?!” Scott exclaimed, his eyes momentarily flashing red. Stiles looked away and mumbled, “You wouldn’t understand Scott”. 

“Try me Stiles! Why haven’t you been eating?” Scott yelled at him. Stiles knew that Scott was really pissed, but he couldn’t let his friend ruin this for him. His one chance to do something right, to lose the fat. 

“Just leave me alone you asshole!” Stiles screamed back at him. He could tell that he caught Scott off guard and almost momentarily felt bad, but in the end didn’t. 

He shuffled over onto the other side of the stretcher and closed his eyes, ignoring Scott for the rest of the ride to the hospital. 

It wasn’t five minutes later that they reached Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, the paramedics opening the door to a very frantic Sheriff. Scott hopped out and briskly walked away, not once looking back. 

“Dad, Dad calm down! I’m okay. See, both eyes, all my teeth, and I think that I can recite the alphabet backwards.” Stiles said trying to calm his dad down who looked like he had just had an aneurism. 

He felt bad, he really did, Stiles put his dad through so much a day. He dragged him into this whole wolf shebang, the Malia case, freaky serial killings, and hunting parties that outranked anything the FBI could ever coordinate. 

The medics unloaded his from the ambulance and began rolling him into the emergency room. Stiles assumed that Scott already told them everything that they needed to know, for god’s sake, Scott knew his social security number! The sheriff walked instep with him until they nurses arranged a room for him to be taken into. 

As they rolled him into the medical bay all he could hear was Scott angrily talking with Melissa, saying “Mom you don’t understand! He’s been starving himself! As in not eating, like at all!” Melissa momentarily locked eyes with Stiles and all he could see was sorrow and confusion in her eyes. 

Stiles momentarily felt bad, but really he shouldn’t even be here, it wasn’t a big deal or anything, people pass out all the time! There are actually diseases like that; medical problems that make people just fall down unconscious. 

The hours flew by, nurses hydrating him and giving his drinks that he assumed were packed with calories, but he put up with them, just barely though. He chugged them and instantly thought of purging, to empty his stomach, but put out a smile, reassuring everyone that it was okay. 

Stiles reassured his father that he wasn’t actually purposefully starving himself, it was just that he was busy and eating hadn’t really occurred to him. It’s crazy what people will believe when you give them an explanation that sounds better than the truth. 

What was a miracle, was that the nurses gave him cloth pants to change into also, so his thighs weren’t showing off all of his battle wounds. The last thing that everyone needed to know about was his other destructive habit. 

Four hours later, after the doctor was satisfied that Stiles wasn’t intentionally bringing harm to himself, he was released under the instructions to eat hearty meals three times a day for the next week so that he could gain weight and come out of the underweight classification. 

Of course that wasn’t going to happen on Stiles’s watch. When his father announced that dinner was ready, Stiles replied with yelling down the stairs that he would be there in a minute. Quietly slipping into the bathroom, he took out a three small packets, each filled with four laxative pills. 

It was nasty to think about but Stiles was desperate at this point, he could not gain weight. It was just something that he couldn’t allow to happen. Whispering to himself he looked at himself in the mirror and what he saw actually brought some tears to his eyes. 

His stomach was bulgingly huge. Pinching his hips and ribs he sorrowfully recognized that there was still a good two inches of fat on him. Deciding to be safer rather than sorry, he took another two packets and downed all of those pills also. 

Sprinting down the stairs, he put on his game face and sat down at the dinner table. This was actually the first time in three weeks that they had both been home to have dinner together, and even when they were both home his dad typically ate in the living room and Stiles took his plate upstairs to his room and dumped it promptly in the garbage. 

What Stiles originally thought was an unnerving silence became quickly charged with tension. Finally his dad broke the silence and put his fork and knife down. 

Stiles stopped eating and looked at his dad and all he saw was sadness and confusion, the same look that Melissa gave him earlier that day. Settling in for the long haul Stiles too put his utensils down and took a deep breath. 

 

“Stiles, I just don’t understand, what’s going on? And no bullshit.” His dad started. 

Stiles looked down at his plate and gave a muted response, “There’s just been a lot going lately dad, okay? It’s all just really stressful and it makes me queasy to I don’t eat a lot because when I do I can’t hold it down.” That was as close as a real response as Stiles was willing to give, and luckily his dad seemed satisfied for the moment. 

“Okay kiddo, just remember that I love you and I’m always here if you ever want to talk” the Sheriff offered in return. Stiles felt bad, he was directly lying to his father, but in the same instant he felt high with power that he managed to deceive everyone by putting on a smile and forcing some calories down his throat. 

After dinner was done and the dishes had been washed and dried Stiles headed upstairs to get a start on his homework, given he had missed half of the day being in the hospital. And it wasn’t likely for Scott to bring him copies of it after he had yelled at him. 

An hour and a half later Stiles was running out of things to do. He had completed his homework, run a load of laundry, and played on his Xbox. 

Another ten minutes went by before he migrated to the bathroom, bringing his laptop and cell phone with him. 

Another five minutes later he was contemplating why the hell he even took the laxatives. He could have purged while pretending to be in the shower and this could have been so much less disturbing. And maybe five packets, twenty pills total, was a little excessive but there was no way that what he had drank and eaten today was staying in him. 

The next morning, which arrived with new red lines on his left hip, was painful to say the least.

Depression has a way of doing that to a person; making them feel almost okay one moment, and the next like they want to stay in bed all day and simply just die to get away from the pressing, relentless darkness and pain. 

Winston Churchill once said that, “If you’re going through hell, keep going” and truthfully, Stiles was able to up most days by thinking of that quote, but that was months ago. Now, he figured that if Mr. Churchill was going through what he was going through, he’d pull the trigger too.


	6. Chapter 6

He goes home. Weighs himself without clothes and after going to the bathroom. Sees the number and dies a little inside, knows that it’s destroying him, this battle within himself, but believes that the result is worth the price of feeling this way. 

He feels fat, worthless, imperfect, a waste of oxygen and space on the planet. He thinks that he’s ugly, stupid, and damaged. And when he dies a little inside everyday, each day he leans towards suicidal tendencies a bit more. 

Its not that Stiles wants to actively go seeking his death but he’s not saying that he’s going to look both ways before he steps into the street, not sure that he’d get off the rails if a train was coming, not sure that he would fight to preserve his life. 

He feels this way every day and believes that he deserves the pain, that he isn’t a good person, a good friend, a good son. He drags himself into that dark place that no one truly recovers from. 

Stiles goes to sleep tired, wakes up tired, and repeats the whole process again. Day in and day out. And he knows that this is self destruction but can’t really bring himself to care. 

Things were just too hard to handle. How was Stiles supposed to have everything under control? Ha, he couldn’t even look at himself without thinking of tearing into his ghastly pale skin. 

He’d always had light skin; it mostly came from his mom. And that made it worse, everyday, knowing that her death lurked around him everywhere, even in the mirror. 

Its four days after the whole hospital sha-bang that Stiles still hasn’t heard anything from Scott. 

He wouldn’t blame Scott though, it’s not like he sighed up to have a freak for a friend. 

But he hasn’t stopped leaving voice mails and texting Scott twice a day trying to coax out a word from his friend. 

It’s another three days before he hears a knock on his window while playing video games. And another five minutes of considering whether or not he should open it before he pulls up his shade and unlocks the window. 

When Scott slides in he keeps his gaze low and steps soft, not his usual clumpy bear walk. 

Stiles turns his back to Scott and resumes playing his game, grabbing another controller and handing it over as an offer of peace. Scott sits down on the floor by his friend and turns the controller on. 

It’s an hour and a half later that they’re finally talking again just jabbering about life’s random shit that they’re going through, but neither of them bring up the hospital visit. That is until the game ends and they’re left in silence. 

It’s Scott who finally breaks the uncomfortable quietness in the room by asking, “I know that I’m treading on really thin ice, but Stiles why?”

Deciding to not really lie but tell only as much truth as is demanded by the situation, Stiles set out to try to put this nicely for his friend. Answering a question with a question he replies, “Why do you think?” 

Scott lets out a grumble. “Really? We’re going to play this game Stiles?” 

“Humor me. Why do you think I do this; not eat?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. All I can tell is that you haven’t been the same in the past few months. You haven’t wanted to hang out as much, no eating large amounts of food unless its salad or some sort of vegetable.” “I’m just confused here Stiles, the only thing I can think of is when Lydia broke up with you” Scott lets it all out in one breath and slouches a little more into the floor, trying to disappear. 

“Well yeah, you have most of it right. This actually started when my mom died. You know that. I had panic attacks almost every day, I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder along with major depressive disorder. The anxiety’s gotten better with time along with the depression and it almost went away for a time with Lydia. And as you figured out, I tanked again when she left.” Stiles dejectedly answered. 

“So it’s Lydia’s fault? I never really liked her anyways, I just put up with her for Allison” Scott rambles on. 

Shaking his head with a small smile on his lips, Stiles responds with “Okay let’s use the statue of liberty. The statue was once really great, absolutely fantastic and then an earthquake hit, okay? The statue cracked and some parts of it fell down never to be fixed. Then the worker fixer dudes came along and painted it. It looks good again, it still has obvious problems, but for the moment, it’s okay. And then a storm comes along and takes the paint off, we can all see how broken it is again. But that’s the thing; it was never fixed, just made to look better.” 

“I never got better after my mom’s death; Lydia just made it seem like I was doing better, I was still broken underneath.”

“Don’t say it like that man, you’re not broken, just…” 

“Just what Scott?”

“I don’t know okay! I’m just trying to figure how to put you back together again man!” 

Stiles looks down and knows that this went too far; Scott never should have came over, even if it was nice to see him again. 

“Sorry, but seriously put yourself in my shoes right now Stiles. You’re freaking the shit our of me, you wont eat, you don’t talk to anyone, for all I know you could planning to kill yourself tonight!”

“Well lucky for you, while I’m not the most put together person who ever existed, I’m not planning on doing something that drastic” Stiles replies with an eye roll, knowing that any other response would most likely put Scott on guard, and with how close he was hitting to home, Stiles needed to play it cool for a while. 

“Actually, I know it was a couple of days ago, but I thought that I saw something, maybe with glowing eyes outside my window at the beginning of the week” Stiles said his opportunity to have his curiosity answered. “It was like Tuesday and I figured that since there hasn’t really been any wind or rain that you might be able to use your dog nose and take a sniff for me, ya know figure out who it was”. 

Scot looked up from the floor at this new mission with a quizzical look. “What makes you think that it was a person?” 

“Well you know with the werewolves I figured that it would be more probable that it was one of you guys rather than some wandering animal. It might have also had glowing eyes, thought that that might be a big clue, sorta kinda.”

Scott perked up a lot more and was putting on his shoes which were abandoned by the window and opening the curtains again to hop outside and see what he could find. As he opened the window he recoiled and pulled his body back into Stiles’s room. 

“Yeah well um you defiantly have a visitor and it wasn’t just Tuesday, from the smell of it it’s been nearly every day this week, including tonight. And it’s a werewolf…” He retorted as he slid into the computer chair. 

“Well spill the metaphorical beans there buddy. Who is it?” Stiles asked, he’d already played through every scenario as to who it could be and most of the possibilities were highly disturbing except for a select few, which were more of a pleasurable and light hearted nature. 

“Dude I don’t know how to say this, it’s actually really weirding me out, but it Derek”.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triggering, please do not read if this will harm you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting patiently for me, testing was bad and now I'm into review for regents and finals. I don't plan on taking another break but if I do, I'll let you all know.

“He doesn’t”

slash

“Fucking”

slash

“Like you”

Slash-slash-slash

Come on Stiles get him out of your head! He can’t like you, nobody likes you and no one ever will. 

“It doesn’t” 

slash

“Mean”

slash

“Anything!”

slash

So what if Scott had said that Derek had been around the past few nights. When he was asleep. At night. That wasn’t creepy at all. Nope!

It was harder than he liked to admit; getting up every morning and grabbing an apple and a water bottle and a pack of mint gum to curb the hunger pains. 

It was harder than he told himself it was; he told himself that millions of people were skinnier than him. He told himself that there were thousands of guys who looked better than him. 

There were the guys who got the girls. The guys that believed in themselves and were confident in walking around on hot summer days without their shirts on. The guys that he would never be one of. 

But god damn it he was at least going to try. Because he went online and found disturbingly motivational pictures and quotes that he knew were unhealthy, but then again the ends justify the means. He was going to be someone that one day someone might like. And if it happened to be Derek, all the better. 

But he had work to do, he had to limit his calorie intake and exercise to the point of dizziness. Which is what brought him to his current state. He was only supposed to eat 400 calories today. he ate 530. 

So now here he was in his bathroom attached to his bedroom, once again in the shower listening to sad self-pitying music that makes him feel crappy. With a blade in his hand and his feeling bad playlist on his phone he was doing what he had been spending most of his free time with now. 

Punishing himself

And he brings the blade down now in a pattern, one cut for every hundred calories with rounding up. So six cuts later the water runs red under the spray of the shower that stings and burns in such a good way. Stiles has had a rough day so the six lines of indulgence aren’t cutting it today, pun intended. 

Three more later the stairs creak under the weight of someone ascending them. Stiles assumes that its his dad but then again better safe to hop out and lock the door. It wouldn’t do much if it was Scott, but then again Scott would have run up the stairs and flopped onto his bed, loudly announcing his presence. 

"Stiles?" The sheriff is right outside of his bedroom door 

"Yeah dad?" He asks with the calmest voice he can manage at the moment

"Hey bud! I'm making dinner, want anything special?"

“ How about subs? Like turkey and veggie subs?" Those were easy to purge. And Stiles lays down another five cuts for the calories he’ll be eating for dinner. Plus another two for the glass of milk his dad always gives him. 

“Okay, they’ll be ready in ten” The stairs resume their creaking again as his dad walks down to the kitchen. 

It could have been worse, his dad could have made spaghetti or steak. Stiles used to love steak until he stepped onto the scale the next morning. The last time he ate steak was three years ago. Yet it’s like he can still feel the fat clinging to his ribs and abdomen. 

But you could have done better. You could have said that you grabbed a bite while you were in town. Then you wouldn’t have to eat you fatass. 

The voices are relentless these days, they never stop and that’s where he is now. Sitting in a puddle of his own blood, in his shower, crying because Derek would never like him because he’s fat. 

“Stiles, dinner’s ready!” Here goes nothing. He takes the bath towel off of the hook by the door, whose shine has more than he ever had. The silver seems insignificant but it’s impressive what a simple metal can do, silver or not.

Three ace bandages, which will eventually begin to heal into his cuts, are tightly wrapped around his legs. They get annoying after a while pulling them off to have them bleed again just to get put back on and it just keeps coming full circle, normally three or four times a day. 

Down the stairs and around the corner he comes face to face with his dad, pretty much scaring the shit out of him. 

“Hey I was just coming up to get you. How was practice today?” His dad walks back to the kitchen where the sub fixings are all in their plastic bags on the counter. Of course he brought out more meat, probably hoping to see him get a little bit of protein. 

Besides from having Jackson knock me over twice, letting six balls go by, and watching Scott walk back to the locker room without me? 

“It was okay, just the normal stuff ya know. Laps, drills, and the muddy field. Lots of passing and strategy today.” Stiles works on bringing out his best smile that he can muster, dad probably had a rough day and the last thing he needs is you bringing him down. 

“How about you?” 

The answer isn’t at all what Stiles was expecting when he gets the turn around response. “Stiles is there something that you’re not telling me?”

“No, why?” and oh god because the nerves are making his heart pound so hard that it wouldn’t take a werewolf to hear it. 

“I got an email at the station today from Finstock saying that he doesn’t think that you’re doing too well. You’re almost failing your history and economics classes and he said that he’s noticed that you’re not being yourself. I’m scared here son, I don’t know what’s going on because you don’t talk to me or Scott anymore.”

Could he ever just get a problem free night?

"Dad we've been through this a hundred times. I'm okay it's just stressful, everything is so stressful." And maybe he pulls the eye blinking, slightly drooped shoulders, and the large bite of turkey and veggie sub just to make it all seem a little more plausible. 

And a sip of milk to push him over. 

“It’s just not that easy Stiles, your mom isn’t here and I’m trying to figure this out all on my own, and hell, I go to bed every night wondering if you’ve eaten anything today.” 

“Dad it’s not a problem I promise.”

“I really wish i could believe you, yet everyday I get told that you skip lunch and walk around instead of eating!” the sheriff was shouting now, and damn it had been a long time since he had done that. 

Stiles was thoroughly frightened at this point, not at his father’s reaction though. He knew that that’s what should be troubling him but he couldn’t get past the point that his dad knew. Someone was telling his dad. 

“It’s Scott isn’t it?!” Stiles’ tone was marked with surprise and betrayal but he knew before he even asked that it was. 

“Stiles for god’s sake, I don’t care who’s telling me! I care that my son is starving himself and he’s lying to my face about it!” 

"I'm going to my room." 

"Like hell you are, you're going to sit here and I'm going to watch you eat dinner!" 

 

Stiles started to push his chair away from the table to go upstairs when his dad spoke again.

"Stiles please just eat your food. Please." 

And the look of utter confusion, despair, and scared on his dad's face made Stiles sit down and pull his plate back towards his place at the table. 

There was a good ten minutes of silence as Stiles slowly but surely ate his sub and drank his milk. And when he was done he just sat there, not knowing if he was excused from the table. 

“I just don’t know what to do here Stiles” his dad let out a long sigh filled with hours of worrying over Stiles’s wellbeing. 

“I’m sorry dad, its just been hard recently with everything

“I know Stiles, just try for me okay? Just try, I lost your mother and I can’t lose you too.” there was a hitch in his voice that gave away how much he was holding inside, the fear that he felt over the possibility of having his son vanish like his wife did, suddenly as he looked on not being able to do a damn thing. Watching her as she faded away, as he was watching Stiles withering away now. 

You’re such a fuck up Stiles! Really? You’ve done this to your own dad! You’re so selfish, such an asshole. You deserve this, you do, you know? You deserve to be in this much pain, you’re hurting him! 

Ten you deserve ten. 

okay. 

“I’m really sorry, I’ll work on it okay?” He walked over to his dad and wrapped his skinny arms around him in an attempt of a hug. “I’m going upstairs and working on my homework. I’ll see you in the morning” 

“Goodnight Stiles” he said with a deep sadness in his voice.

“Night dad” 

Stiles began walking up the steps but they didn't creak nearly as much as they used to under his weight. "and Stiles? You'd tell me if things were getting too crazy right? Like if you needed help?" His dad’s voice had the hopeful tone in it that reflected that he knew the answer differed from the answer he wanted but nevertheless hoping.

“Yeah, I’ll do that”

“Okay go to sleep buddy, I'll see you in the morning"

“See ya in the morning”

“I love you Stiles” that's pulling out the big guns, his dad hasn’t directly said that in almost a year, its always been ‘be safe”, and ‘I don't want to see you in my office’. The ‘I love you card’ was something different all together, it meant ‘you’re the only reason I’m here. And that was a scary reality. 

And Stiles hates himself for doing this to his dad. He's the only person who actually still gives a shit about his fat ass. Scott has Allison, Ethan has Danny, and Lydia has Aiden. And Stiles has his blades.  
For god’s sake, where are they? There’s blood lines form where he turned off the shower and forgot to rinse all of it down the drain. But there’s no blades. God Damnit! This is the absolute last thing that he needs right now. Right now he needs them in his hands in his bed with a towel and his sad music. Because he hurt his dad. 

Ten is what he deserves, so ten he’ll get. As soon as he can fucking find them. 

Stiles stomps on the tile and slams his fist on his counter by the sink just to receive a sharp agonizing pain to the arch of his foot. He hisses as he sits on the toilet and comes to inspect the damage. 

Well he found them. 

They were on the floor blending in with the dark green bath rug that sits outside of his shower. 

He knows that he shouldn’t be nearly as relieved as he is for he having the little piece of hell, or heaven, whichever way you look at it, but he is, and it’s a sickening feeling. 

He gave himself five earlier for dinner but that was with the understanding that his sub wouldn’t be staying down for long. He was never very good at making himself throw up so after a little bit of doing his famous research he found ipecac. Basically a puke generator. 

Now Stiles turns on the radio in the bathroom, door once again locked, and the fan, grabs a towel and swallows a small teaspoon of the stuff and drinks three glasses of water. The stuff is much easier to come up if it isn’t all hard, chunky, and dry. He knows that this is so wrong, his body has been weak for months and has gotten worse after his passing out sha-bang in school. The nutrients that his body craves come up within half an hour, it’s really no use after a while, the calories have already been absorbed. 

But hey, he takes daily gummy vitamins! That’s got to count for something. It helps that they come in bright colors and fun shapes. 

So fifteen minutes later he’s retching up his small dinner which does not seem to justify the disgustingness that is now coming out of his mouth. 

Then it’s onto the even more disturbing habit, the self punishment that he convinces himself is necessary. And it’s no longer a big deal, its muscle memory; dragging and pushing into his skin until those little red beads pop up again and he can finally breathe right. 

And Stiles cleans up and brushes his teeth, not to mention that puke breath when it happens twice a day isn’t exactly that easy to cover up after a while, and pulls on pajamas that delight him by hanging off of his hips. The scale reads 153, down .7 from yesterday, progress is good but slow, the numbers can’t melt off fast enough.  
To bed with his phone charging under his pillow and his music softly playing so he can hear it if he wants to. Stiles doesn’t listen to the typical screamo that you might categorize with depression, eating disorders, suicide, and self-harm, he prefers a little bit of everything but really likes the 90’s and 2000’s music. Its not all ‘look what I can do with my junk’, a little more meaningful to say the least. 

That’s what his daily evening is composed of. And you can’t forget the nightmares, those fuckers like to stay around every night until he’s finally peacefully asleep and then they pull a cliff jump and gun to the head. And what’s truly scary is that they used to scare the crap out of him, and they still do, but now they’re seeming more reasonable and logical. 

Tonight is no different and the poor boy wakes up at 3 in cold sweat, what else is new? The only thing that seems to be constant in his ever changing supernatural life is the precision of the night terrors. 

He goes back to sleep with his music louder and his thoughts on Derek, the broody man who roams outside his house at night, and whom he happens to have a ridiculous crush on and where his thoughts start every morning. 

Who’s he kidding, Derek will never like him, he deserves six for even thinking about it. 

But can you really blame him? Stiles has seen the dude without his shirt on doing pull ups, not to mention feeling his hard muscles for hours on end while holding him up in a pool to keep him from drowning. Yeah it was pretty hard not to be physically attracted to him, but Stiles was more. 

He liked Derek for his smile and wit, his caring side he showed with Laura and Erica and Boyd. Stiles liked the relaxed way he lounged and could spit out random answers to jeopardy when there was nothing good on during pack meeting nights. 

The intense way he got during baseball season, he wasn’t a big fan of football, and the funny look he got before he sneezed. Creepy little facts, Stiles knows but can’t stop the small smile the appears on his lips as he thinks about napping with him in the hammock down on the lake property Derek has outside of town. 

And it’s a guilty pleasure to stare at Derek when he’s practicing fighting techniques with the others, but Stiles has got to lighten up his life whenever he can and if it happens to be by looking at a certain physically crafted werewolf, he’s not going to complain.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo very very sorry that this has taken me so long. On the bright side this chapter is the longes yet 5,000+ words and it includes Stiles and Derek time. No promises that you will like this chapter as it is might seem off track but i promise it's all important. I hope you enjoy!

It’s only four days later when Stiles has had enough. He has Derek’s number because of course he was practically a pack member, just more human to say the least. So Stiles calls and after getting no answer three times he leaves a few choice words as his message, pretty much “Get your sourwolf ass over here” After no response he assumes that Derek is ignoring him which isn't unusual so he goes back to his task at hand and new police reports he might have copied from his father’s office. But hey it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission. 

Another forty five minutes, two web pages on wendigos, and ten feet of red string later he thinks that he’s onto something. Something freaky that he wished wasn’t as real as it probably was, but it was something. The police reports say a cold walk-in freezer in one of the houses of the suspects was found, weird enough without the cold human bodies hanging from hooks from the ceiling, and wasn’t that an appealing thought. The scary part was that some of them were still alive. Two victims had been brought to the hospital, the rest to the morgue where he would probably be visiting later. 

Putting the pieces together hadn’t been that difficult. The pack had been through almost everything in the alphabet so wendigos were bound to happen at one point or another. Lydia had been acting weird all day before she left his house to go back to her own, and that was textbook banshee code for, “there’s a dead body somewhere”. After she had left Stiles went into the police website and looked at missing persons reports. A person was going missing every Wednesday for what appeared to be the past three months. So twelve in total, thats a lot for a monster, usually they have the brains to spread their hunting grounds to the nearby cities, but these disappearances were all local. 

Most freaky things eat whenever they’re hungry but these ones had a process that he didn’t understand. Why store the meat and not just hop on in and get some guts for dinner? They did, but there were too many of them Stiles assumed. A whole little monster family, they had to plan ahead and were doing a good job about covering their tracks until they slipped up. There had been a struggle out on the preservation which was a given with the amount of blood and claw marks on tree trunks. Wendigos liked to get up to the tree tops and move around up there, invisible to anyone on the ground. This time though, they attacked from the trees. 

A car was found on the side of the road crashed into a nearby tree with a huge dent in the middle of the top panel. Stiles was guessing that the wendigo dropped down from above and caused the crash, taking the couple out of the car and back to their monster hole. Or the freezer in their normal looking, human house. But what was different was that these people put up a fight. They ran a small market in town, Martha and Bob. But when the wendigo plopped down like a paratrooper Bob was quick, he took a knife and started slashing and jabbing, or that’s what Stiles thinks happened and managed to get a chunk of it detached from it’s body. 

There was a lot of blood from what the police reports said, and wendigos, according to beastiarie he borrowed, don’t bleed that much. So Stiles doesn’t have too much hope for Martha and Bob to be the ones going to hospital alive. Which is a shame because Martha and Bob were always so nice. Stiles’ mom was friends with Martha when he was younger. Bob, the former police chief before he worked the market with his wife, and his dad taught him and Scott how to play baseball and throw a football, and Martha and his mom prepared lemonade with those little umbrellas. Stiles’ parents had been practically and for all purposes disowned by their families for eloping and moving away from the eastern shore. Bob and Martha were the closest that he and his dad to extended family, people other than each other to love. It hurt to know that he would never see them again outside of a casket. 

But his dad managed to take the monster's skin, probably figuring that because it was grey, crackly, and dry it wasn’t normal, and got it back to Stiles, who gave it to Deaton who was currently supposedly analyzing it. He was pretty sure already that this thing, these things, were wendigos. 

Stiles was listening to his music and the wind was blowing outside, there was a super storm coming in tonight, so he didn’t think anything of it when there was a tap on the window, however the following thud might have scared him more that he would like to admit followed by a hypothetical manly scream. Totally manly. He didn’t see anything through his curtains but then again he didn’t think there was anything to worry about, the wendigos weren’t going to come knock on his window if they wanted a late night snack. 

He pulled back his curtains to reveal a pair or golden eyes and an agitated, yet smirking, Derek Hale. Well that was unexpected. He unlocked his window, which he had done because he was still mad at Scott for going behind his back and talking to his dad, and let the man in. “Better late than never I guess”. 

“I just got back” Derek says all gruff and irritated. “From what?” Stiles asks, “chasing bunnies into the sunset?”. He laughs inside at that, he has to make himself happy somehow. 

“Try a mountain lion” Stiles looks him over and sees a disturbing amount of blood on his shirt and hands. “Dude, did you even bother to take a shower before you came over? Well obviously not because you’re covered in blood and reek to high heaven, are there any lion guts stuck to your shoes or anything? Ewww thats just nasty man, bathroom’s through that door, go grab a shower and I’ll get that shirt I gave you when you pretended to be my cousin” he says as he’s already moving to get the blood out of his sight, maybe it has no relation to his own nocturnal habit but it’s still there and the sight is triggering.

“Stiles, it’s fine, just talk already” Derek commands. “You must have called me because it was something very important that needed to be discussed tonight, or else you would have had the brains to wait until next week when the full moon was out of cycle”. the huff that escaped the werewolf was almost surely a dramatic effect. Huh, he hadn’t put that into his stream of thought. 

Tired of being constantly on edge while trying to sleep in his room every night Stiles just blurted it out, “Why are you being all creepy stalkerish and prancing around my house at night? Because I sure as hell want to know what could possibly be so interesting to make you act like some Edward Cullen.” 

“No one else has been taking shifts around your house at night so I figured I might as well do something productive when I’m not sleeping” Derek says with a simple shrug of his shoulders taking in his surroundings, he’s only been in his room twice.

There’s nothing special in Stiles’ room; a desk, bed, door to the hallway and another to his bathroom. The walls are painted a dull grey blue and his curtains are drawn half open, band posters litter his walls with random newspaper articles that his dad or Scott saved for him. Derek noticed the smaller things though, like how the computer was open to pages about wendigos and the wall adjoining the window were once again littered with red string supporting Derek’s thought that they had once again underestimated the human. 

Derek noticed the way there was a hint of gauze poking out from underneath or a few dots of blood next to the nightstand, a faint odor of blood and fear, despair, and sorrow hung in the air and it was fresh yet strong, it must be a normal occurrence in order to create a scent this strong. He knew that Stiles had been struggling recently, he could pick up the scent outside of his house at night when he opened the window which was becoming a frequent action although the nights were unusually cold. He brushed it off quickly though, it was nothing new, Stiles had been sad for periods now and then again, he assumed that it was tough seeing his best friend sucking face with Alison all of the time when he himself was single after Lydia had left him, even if it was a gentle break up. 

Derek thought nothing more of the blood and sadness, he was sure that if anything got too serious with the kid that he would pick it up, he would know. He chalked it up to sports and clumsiness. On another critical view of the room, it was ordinary, actually similar to the one he had had as his own before his house burned. 

“What do you mean you’re taking shifts at my house? That is pretty much solidifying the Twilight theory, you know.” Stiles asks rather flustered, he does things at night and it’s not always filled with images of Lydia. “Wait, what, have you actually read Twilight?” Derek asks with a smile on his lips and laughing eyes. “Lydia mentioned that she liked them once so I read them”. “Wait you said them, as in the whole series, not just the first one? Oh that is too good!” Derek is outright laughing and Stiles quickly gets flustered and starts blushing which Derek thinks brings out his facial structure quite well, which he might notice if he was paying attention, which he was certainly not doing. 

“You’ve never done something stupid for a girl?” Stiles asks in return. “Yeah I guess I have” Derek quietly says and the mood drops quickly. After a moment Derek gives Stiles a small smile and a nod resuming their original conversation. “Just a precaution and not an actual shift more of a check, I just do a quick round around your house and property to make sure there's nothing thinking it can bother you guys.” And doesn’t that make Stiles smile on the inside, apparently protectiveness is a bonus. 

“You’re right you know” Derek chuckled to himself pulling his focus back onto the situation at hand. “Right about what?” Stiles replied. 

“The wendigos, I picked up the case as a side thing a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been monitoring the situation with Peter. The hard part is taking up their trail, once they go into the trees it gets tougher for us, the breeze high up takes away the scent much faster. We’ve searched all of the damp and cool places within a ten mile radius but come up blank for where they’re storing the bodies.” Derek sighs as he leans against the window frame, this is likely to be a long conversation. Stiles does not disappoint, “Great! That solves one part of the game, we know what they are, and we know where they’re keeping the bodies. Lydia found it earlier with her banshee dead people radar, it’s a nice house outside the south part of town” 

“Have you been to the house yet?” It’s a really simple question that he asks but Stiles knows that there’s a promise of CSI: Beacon Hills coming up. “Nope, is that where we’re going?” he asks with more excitement than is socially acceptable. "Grab your coat, I’ll be in the jeep”. Stiles gives himself a mental high-five, totally investigation time. “Give me three”. 

Stiles grabs a sweatshirt, his baseball bat that has been commuting between the house and his jeep, a flashlight, his phone, and some mint gum. He hasn’t eaten all day and the last thing he needs is his stomach complaining at its abuse, mint curbs the hunger. He slides on his ratty pair of sneakers and stomps down stairs looking for his dad.

He finds him with a beer and a baseball game on in the living room. “Hey dad, I’m going over to Scott’s for the night, I’ll be home for breakfast because he’s taking Alison to breakfast tomorrow morning.” There is a long sigh that Stiles was expecting. “Is that really what’s happening Stiles?” The sheriff looks over his shoulder and gives a questioning glare to his only son. “For the record, yeah, more or less.”

His dad sighs and Stiles knows that he’s free now. “I’ll be back for breakfast dad, see you in the morning.” “I do not want-” The sheff begins but this is the same lecture they have every single time so Stiles finishes for him, “ -to see you in my office. Yeah I know. Bye!” And with that the teenaer is out of the door with a very ungraceful baseball bat swinging at his side as he walks into the night’s darkness. 

Forty two steps later, Stiles’ OCD is coming back in the small ways, he opens his jeep door and hops in automatically turning his vehicle on and with the headlights on high, because it’s ten thirty at night and every other sensible person is asleep, and they head off to the house of the human popsicles. 

Stiles calls Scott and quickly has a short one-sided conversation telling him that he's spending the night at his house although he isn't so he just needs to cover for him. He may or may not leave out the part that he's going to break into a crime scene where wendigos live with Derek Hale of all people. It's not a lie, just selective truth telling. By the time they’re rolling down the road Stiles has the radio turned up because it’s an adventure so why not?

What surprises him though is Derek’s muted singing along with Bryan Adams. Stiles always assumed that the man just didn’t listen to music or whatever, so it caught him off guard when he felt Derek’s fingers drumming on his dashboard and heard his perfect on beat voice. He couldn’t help but smirk. Derek must have picked up on his grin because his head turned and he looked amused. “What!? I’m not allowed to sing? Because out of the two of us I definitely have the better voice!” He says acting slightly offended. 

“How would you know what my voice sounds like? I never sing.” Stiles says keeping his eyes on the road and the white line that’s leading them to the fridge and meat hook house. “You do too sing! You were singing some pop hit last night in the shower.” Derek claims and then after a second he realizes what he just said and stops his eyebrows doing the scrunchy thing when he actually thinks. 

“That sounded as weird as you think it sounded in case you were wondering” Stiles says with a grin as he realizes that Derek is now extremely uncomfortable. 

Stiles’ jeep headlights outline the road as they keep approaching the house and the playful banter dies down. He knows that Derek should be able to smell his chemical change in his body, raging from manically happy and cheerful to bordering on quick onset depression. He was so happy to even be near Derek, something that never seems to entail happy conversations and non-threatening situations. 

Stiles was hopeful that spending more time together would help form the beginnings of a relationship. But his brain, his darkness, never leaves him alone. They are taunting him now, asking how he could ever believe that Derek could ever like him, he’s too fat and ugly, not athletic enough, not his type. 

The voices sneer and joke saying mean and harsh realities like He doesn’t like you. Get over yourself Stilinski, he deserves better. You’re nothing to him, never have been never will be. Stiles quickly sobers up from his happiness and elation for it to be replaced by sadness and somberness. His mood is subject to his inner demons and now they are playing red rover and Stiles can’t push through. Derek senses the change in atmosphere and drops the conversation at hand, only offering small facts about the house and the wendigos and the case. Derek gives his small sideways glances every minute or so, knowing something is wrong yet unsure of how to fix it. 

Less than five minutes later they pull up to 85 Brooks Rd., a decent sized house with welcoming shutters and flowers and bushes around the perimeter. The only thing that is out of place is the caution tape in bright yellow wrapped around the property. All signs of the earlier police work has been pulled for the night, to resume tomorrow morning bright and early. 

They drive five hundred feet down the road so that they’re in front of a park instead of the house not to spark any inquiry. Stiles pulls his keys out of the ignition and the headlights turn off leaving the two in darkness although Derek has the advantage of night vision while Stiles is fumbling around trying to find his flashlight and baseball bat. After a minute he’s gathered his breaking and entering kit and Derek has already headed down the road to the house’s fenced in backyard. 

Just as they both reach the back porch after hopping the low fence. the rain starts coming down in the beginning of the storm the meteorologists predicted. A lockpick and a few seconds later they’re in and it suddenly seems a little crazy what they’re doing. They have no backup and all they have is a lone werewolf and a baseball bat. Given it’s trained and deadly werewolf but they’re in a house of wendigos for crying out loud. And it’s too late to turn back now, well not really but if he’s here he might as well do something with it. Derek immediately goes into glowing eyes and those are the bright eyes that Stiles saw out of his window and it brings him into awe. Derek was patrolling his house, keeping him safe and that makes him feel bubbly in a way it probably shouldn’t. 

They both step inside and turn on their flashlights and Stiles puts the flashlight under his chin and makes a scary face or what he hopes is one. Derek turns around and rolls his eyes but Stiles catches his smirk as he walks into the living room. Its a normal house from what they can tell excluding the little triangles with numbers marking previous evidence sites, the serious clues all removed and brought under police surveillance. Stiles keeps his baseball bat clutched tightly in his right hand, using his left for the flashlight that provides the single line vision in the creep house. 

“Do you and your wolfy senses sense anything?” Stiles asks and he’s only half joking.  
“I don’t know are you getting any psychic readings?” Derek retorts. “Hey don’t look at me like that, Lydia is the one who listens to walls!” Stiles exclaims, his heart light with elation of adventuring. His reply is a scoff with rolled eyes although he can’t see them. They stalk around, scanning their flashlights into the dark rooms before entering. Stiles takes an extra minute to look through the mail on the counter and turn the computer on trying to find anything to give them an upper hand on the situation. 

While Derek moves on and starts heading to the second floor and into the bedrooms, Stiles sticks back in the kitchen, there’s something he’s missing, he can feel it. So he stays longer and opens more drawers, looking harder. It’s only five minutes later he hits gold, there was a soft spot in the floor, seemingly nothing to anyone casually walking, just an area where the flooring was dented maybe from a heavy drop of something from a counter. But it was a perfectly square indent, no more than half a centimeter but enough that his sneaker caught the edge. 

Getting down onto his hands and knees Stiles feels around until he has a corner and takes out a kitchen knife that he found earlier in one of the drawers and might have brought with him. He pries the tile out from the floor and is confronted with a safe, small and compact but efficient from the lights flashing from it. He stands up and looks around in the dark debating whether to call for Derek or not to help him here. 

Stiles swivels around on his heels and is confronted with a very large set of eyes that are not human. He may scream for a second before there’s a huge warm hand covering his mouth silencing his fright. Derek shines his flashlight onto his face revealing that it is actually him and not a wendigo which would have been the worst possible  
scenario. Derek moves his hand back down to his side and peers over Stiles’ shoulder at the hold in the ground. 

“Give a guy some warning here man! Not cool...not cool.” Stiles says shaking it off and regaining his confidence. “Thats a safe, no idea whats in it or else I wouldn’t be standing here I suppose, but you need to crack it.” 

“Do we know why there’s a blinking light on it?” Derek asks. “Probably an alarm system, don’t put the right code in and it sets off an alarm, either on the safe itself, the home security they had, or an app on one of their phones. Any of those situations aren’t that great. Or, its just to let us know if we put the wrong combo in. I’m hoping for the latter.” Stiles responds with a grimace. 

“Is there a way of knowing before we give it a try?” Derek asks. 

“Ummm...Lets just go for it.”  
“That sounds like a very bad idea.”  
“Don’t say it like that, it’s not my worst.” Stiles gives him his best excited grin not holding back the smile in his eyes. He lives these days for the endorphin rush from slicing his skin open, but excitement and adventure seem to do the same with the adrenaline landslide.  
“I know and that scares me.” Derek says sticking his hands in the hole in the ground preparing to take it out and crack it. He gets it out of the floor and places it on the tile, his claws protrude and he gets a grip on the slick metal and puts a hand on each side of the door. Just as he starts to pull Stiles yells, “wait!”. 

“For the love of god Stiles, what now?” Derek asks exasperated. “I have an idea.” is the response as the boy scrambles off of the floor and trots into the study where they were earlier. “I have an idea too, why don’t we do this, check the freezer, and bat out of hell. We’ve been here too long already”. Derek replies. 

“Here” Stiles says and drops a can of keyboard dust cleaner onto the floor beside him. “Hold it upside down and spray onto the electronic part on the system, it should freeze the circuits and let us get in without setting off the possible alarms! Just don’t get yourself, it can cause frostbite  
So Derek holds the can upside down and sprays until the safe is covered in a fine layer of crystals and the blinking light blinks no more. Then he grabs and pulls. 

And it pops off and no alarms go off, and the lights are still not blinking.  
Ten points to Gryffindor. 

And there is a whole lot of nothing. They went through all of that trouble for an empty safe. It figures though, if they knew they were in trouble they would have emptied the safe and fled with their remaining family members. But then Stiles sees a small latch, a compartment with the safe. 

“Stiles, something’s wrong, we’re not alone anymore.” Derek says this rushed before there’s a thump and the werewolf goes flying across the room and into the table in the corner. 

Oh shit. 

But Stiles needs to know, what’s in there could be a game changer, a reason why. Why here and now, why Martha and Bob? They meant so much to Stiles and his dad, they were something they had never been able to have. The safe has to have the answer. 

“Stiles!” That was the only heads-up Derek could give him before he too was thrown around the kitchen into the counter. That was definitely going to bruise. Stiles is up on his feet in a split second to see glowing white eyes inches from his before they are tackled as Derek launches himself and the wendigo into a fight. The kitchen is not going to come out of tonight intact. 

The wendigo shrieks and Derek growls as they circle the small open area waiting for an opportunity to strike. The wendigo lunges forward and Derek hunches as the wendigo lands on his back. Derek straightens up and sends the monster rolling and landing on the marble counter with a grunt. They exchange blows with Derek having the obvious advantage. He’d been trained as a werewolf baby from what Stiles knew up until his family was roasted homicide style. Even then he taught Erica, Isaac, and Boyd so he was apparently always ready for a fight. 

Derek’s punches were solid and connected every time, aimed at the head and neck region of it’s body. He was swift on his feet and dodged the majority of the blows aimed at him. Not to say the wendigo didn’t put up a good defense. It attacked when Derek slipped up which wasn’t often but did happen. More blows were exchanged as Derek sent the wendigo flying into the refrigerator. 

As the two of them fight their way around the kitchen and into the dining room Stiles dodges behind them and back to the safe. He may not have any special powers or anything but he has a hell of a gut instinct and its telling him to open that compartment. Stepping over pieces of the marble countertop, a toaster, and a keurig Stiles kneels down besides the mangled safe and pulls the tiny box out of its corner. He looks down and he stops breathing because what he is seeing is too painful. There is a necklace with a single diamond embedded in a silver ring on a thin, delicate chain. 

Stiles knows this necklace, he’s seen it worn by an important woman in his life. The necklace was Martha’s. Stiles and his dad gave it to her a long time ago, after the pain of losing his mother faded and he was ready to move forward. Martha was his second mom for a long time, while Claudia was alive, and then after she passed. So they gave her the necklace as a present and Stiles is happy to see it again, but it’s making him nauseous because there’s something terribly wrong wit it, it’s splattered with blood. 

His breathing returns with an erratic rhythm , it’s too much to handle but he can’t afford to have a panic attack right now, not with debris of chairs and picture frames flying through the air. He quickly shoves the necklace into his pocket and goes into the room where the two are to assess the situation. Not much has changed but by now Derek is covered in a light sheen of sweat that is only barely visible by the street lights outside by the road. The wendigo has slowed down, it’s movements aren’t nearly as precise as it dodges Derek’s punches and it’s relying on defensive tactics such as flitting over the large dining table and trying to find a way out of the enclosed room rather than attack either of them.

In a flat second the wendigo has jumped over Stiles’ shoulder and barreled into Derek’s body sending the three of them into a heap on the floor of the kitchen. Stiles quickly crawls out of the way of a very peeved Derek as they resume their fight. Stiles can’t see everything which is nerve-wracking but he knows that Derek and the wendigo can. Derek uppercuts the vile thing and sends it’s head spinning like an owl’s, going in a near circle. 

As the wendigo stumbles into Stiles, who violently pushes it away from him, Stiles slams his hands into the ground to stabilize himself only to be rewarded with a searing pain in his palm. He pulls his hand close to his chest to examine the immediate damage and sees a large shard and several small pieces of glass embedded in his palm. Stiles, as a base instinct, flinches and makes a small noise vocalizing his injury. The small noise is just enough to alert Derek to his pain and as he looks over at the teenager, the wendigo gains the upper hand. Stiles stands up and he and Derek share a second of mutual communication, that they need to get out of here, freezer be damned. As Stiles goes to turn around and escape through the back porch a look of determination crosses over Derek’s face as he assaults the creature one last time. 

Punches are thrown with lethal power and accuracy and kicks momentarily take out the wendigo’s legs as the fight is renewed with more vigor than before.  
“Stiles?” Derek grunts as he gets his butt momentarily handed to him as the fiend roundhouse kicked him so well that Chuck Norris would have been proud. “Yeah?” He asks as he tries to just stay out of the way of the supernatural fight. “Duck!” Its a good thing that Stiles was used to following his dad’s orders because he drops to the floor in an instant and rolls over just in time to see a knife embed itself in Derek’s torso. The blood quickly coats Derek’s shirt and Stiles just stays on the floor dumbly looking at what just happened. He can’t believe this is happening, it can’t be, it’s just too horrible. Derek was hurt because of him and it wasn’t a simple papercut, he had a kitchen knife sticking out of his stomach and dripping blood onto the floor. 

The wendigo pushes through Stiles making contact with the side of his body and he can feel it’s hands on him as it pauses for a second and throws him onto the floor too.If he had eaten anything today it would have just come up as his stomach churned. But Stiles doesn’t care because everything in the last ten minutes has been terrible and it’s all his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments, they keep me motivated and excited to keep writing.


	9. Chapter 9

There was a sense of nothing for a couple of seconds. Stiles was caught in a twisted limbo where he couldn’t believe what was happening because the truth was too terrible. He tangled his limbs and collapsed into an ungraceful mess on the floor. He couldn’t breathe, and his lungs were screaming for air that couldn’t make it through his throat and into his body. His breath was ragged and soon he was hyperventilating. 

His brain couldn’t slow down enough to be useful so he was a pile of defenseless, teenage boy, freaking out on the floor of a house with a werewolf and a wendigo in a fight. Out of all the panic attacks Stiles has had, this one is definitely the worst timed. 

Derek grunted and looked down at his torso, a red spot quickly making itself large on his shirt. His eyes glowed red and he growled as he quickly pulled the knife out of his stomach and threw it onto the floor. Blood was splattered all over the floor and countertops. Derek howled and vaulted himself over the table, landing on top of the monster and started beating the ever living crap out of it. Derek went at it with renewed vigor and and chased the thing throughout the house for several minutes. 

All while Stiles was freaking out, struggling to breathe on the tile floor.He could hear the growls, hisses, and thumps as they knocked tables and chairs over and a crash in what Stiles assumed was the flatscreen tv coming to its unfair demise. He knew that he couldn’t stay here, in this vulnerable position, but he wasn’t in control of his body. 

But he could be, he could be in control. The knife was too far away from where he was, but he kept his nails long for this exact reason. It was so wrong that he actually planned ahead and assumed that he would need to do this for one reason or another. But he rearranged himself until he was leaning on the cabinet and quickly grabbed his left arm with his right and set to work. 

He scratched away layers of his forearm quickly revealing a bright red patch of irritated skin. Stiles methodically raked his nails up and down, up and down until blood was drawn to the surface and he could feel the sting from where he was breaking into the deep epidermis. It burned and yet he kept going because he wasn’t in control yet and he knew he could be. A very long few minutes later and Stiles was breathing normally, or as normal as he could in this situation. 

There wasn’t much he could do but try and keep the winning hand in his mind as it stuck on replay, seeing the knife embed itself in Derek’s stomach again and again. Eventually he was able to stumble to his feet, that had fallen asleep while he was haphazardly strewn on the floor, and stagger into the other rooms. 

The noises had died down and finally stopped all together. Stiles walked on uneasy legs from one room to another trying to locate Derek, looking first in the living room, then the laundry room, and upstairs into the bedrooms. He was ready to give up and just call the werewolf because he obviously wasn’t here anymore when he rounded the corner to head into the kitchen and came face to face with a very tired alpha werewolf. 

“Where were you?!” Stiles asks, seemingly agitated but very relieved that he found him. “I tried to follow it, but it was just too fast. Normally I could have caught it, but that seems to go away when my body’s trying to heal.” Derek replied with an exhausted sigh, giving a small gesture to his wound that was quickly healing itself, but not as fast as it ought to be. 

“Why isn’t it healing right?” Stiles questions, nervous that something is seriously wrong. 

“I think the stupid thing nicked itself purposefully before throwing it, it wouldn’t do anything to you, but its blood is a mild irritant to werewolves.” Derek responded. “So nothing seriously life threatening in the near future?” Stiles threw back at him. 

“Not that I’m aware of.” Derek said with a small smile tugging onto the corners of his mouth. “Thank god!” Stiles says while exhaling air that he had unconsciously been holding in. 

“We really got nothing from coming over here didn’t we.” Stiles mutters, bothered that this was a waste of time. “Yup” is the quick response. 

“No wait!” Stiles shouts. “In the- in the safe there was a necklace, it was my mom's. Why was only that in the safe? There were wedding rings on the other people, bracelets and earrings, why just the necklace?” he patted down his pockets and a look of sheer horror crossed his face, clouding all previous happiness that was there. 

It’s gone. He looked down at the floor and fell onto his knees scrambling over the tiles, searching under the cabinets and with growing panic as he looked desperately around every corner and under the kitchen table.

He then ran upstairs and thoroughly looked through all of the rooms he was in while he was looking for Derek. Stiles searched through piles of stuff in the bedrooms, on the stairs, double checked the safe and when he was sure that it wasn’t inside promptly crumbled within himself. He ran through every room again, including the freezer although he logically knew he hadn’t been in there. But then he remembered, as soon as Derek got the knife thrown at him, the wendigo ran into him and grabbed him before throwing his body onto the floor. That thing had the necklace.

“D-Derek? W-w-where did the w-wendigo g-go?” Stiles manages to stutter out as he once again tried to control another panic attack that feels like it’s drowning him. Unfortunately these seem to come in pairs with him. He’s upstairs but knows that Derek can hear him.

Derek, alerted to Stiles’ situation by his shallow and difficult breaths and erratic heartbeat before he even, spoke ran up the stairs and found the teenager. 

“Shit! Stiles breathe with me. Just breathe. Come on Stiles, in and out.” Derek was stressing out and roughly ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just a necklace Stiles, it’s okay! Really, it’ll be okay.” 

Stiles whimpered as he felt himself slipping, this was terrible. The necklace meant everything to him, he valued it more than his laptop, which was saying a lot. He grabbed onto Derek’s who was kneeling in front of him and held on for dear life because he couldn’t control this attack, he was under the mercy of his brain. His breathing went out of control despite Stiles’ attempts at deep breathing. He practiced this stuff every week in therapy yet when he needed the technique, where the hell was it? 

A flash of lightning lit up the room and a loud clap of thunder shook the house and rocked Stiles’ body into motion. 

Stiles brought his arms together and dug his nails into the tender flesh of his left arm which he had already destroyed earlier. The pain was a tidal wave of release and after a minute of agony he was able to focus a little bit more. Derek, alerted to the scent of fresh blood being drawn and pain, looked over Stiles before he realized what he was doing.

“Stiles, stop! What are you doing?!” Derek grabbed both of his hands in one of his while his other hand went to Stiles’ arm to assess the damage done. He quickly placed his free hand onto Stiles' arm and leached the pain, little black veins appearing on his arm as the pain dulled and soon went away. 

Stiles fought with what little strength he had and tried to break Derek’s grip on his wrists but he did happen to be up against werewolf with super strength. When Stiles failed he whimpered softly and a single tear slipped out of his very moist eyes and down his cheek. The image made Derek’s wolf howl. 

This was officially the worst panic attack he had ever had, and he had had some really nasty ones. His breathing was too rapid and too shallow and soon he was seeing black spots everywhere. Derek’s voice seemed to be fading away and when he leaned into Stiles’ line of sight he looked scared and desperate. 

Suddenly his vision was gone and he was slightly aware of his body falling towards the floor as he was drifting into nothingness. 

Derek, not knowing what was happening, was frightened when Stiles’ body went limp in front of him and to prevent the boy from collapsing on the hardwood floor in between them, he grabbed the teen’s shoulders and held him still while Derek hauled himself into a sitting position, legs crossed. Once he was settled he pulled Stiles into his lap, one arm holding his head against his shoulder while the other wrapped around Stiles’ thin frame holding him close to his body. 

Derek rocked Stiles’ body gently, feeling the kid’s muscles tighten so they were like springs being pulled taut. The random twitches wracked his body and Derek simply held on tighter. 

Derek was no stranger to panic attacks. After the fire he and Laura had them daily. The breaking of the pack bond had been too much to handle, the holes in their chests where they had been connected to their family, their parents and their siblings and their cousins.

It ripped Laura apart at the seams and Derek was there to hold her. He rocked her and rubbed circles into her back. He would press his fingers into her neck and attempt to keep her muscles slightly looser so when she came out of it she didn’t have a sore neck too. 

But Laura never had attacks like this, Stiles was actually not there. Laura had her eyes open and rapidly blinking. Stiles’ eyes were closed with an occasional tear slipping down his moistened cheeks. Derek had heard of people passing out during panic attacks and knew it was rare, and it was terrifying. 

His twitches slowly lessened and became weaker as Derek continued to rock him and hold him close. Eventually Stiles’ body went limp and he opened his eyes although they were glazed over. 

A few minutes later Stiles let out a deep breath, it was over. He turned over in Derek’s arms, since he had relaxed them, and rolled his head so that he looked Derek in the eyes. He saw something that he never knew Derek had; vulnerability. He looked scared and nervous. 

Derek held him as his body was shaking with the aftershocks and the occasional involuntary full body twitch. 

He could feel when Stiles’ heart rate slowed down and his breaths returned to normal. Stiles was limp in his arms, Talia would have said he was a limp noodle. But the peace was quickly dashed as Stiles, locating himself and assessing the situation, got his scrawny legs underneath him and scrambled away. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.” Stiles said, meekly gesturing to where they had been sitting moments before. 

“It’s okay Stiles” Derek said gently, this was new information for him. He had no clue the kid was dealing with this type of stuff. “What necklace?” He leaned back with a long sigh expecting that this might take a while. 

“It used to be um… my mom's and then I gave it to Martha.” He murmured well aware that Derek could easily hear him. “She was like my mom for a while. It just meant a lot when we gave it to her, ya know? She was there when my dad was at work late and I didn’t want to be in the house alone.” 

Derek just nodded his head and let him talk. 

“Martha used to make the best ham and cheese sandwiches. Random. Sorry, that was totally random.” Stiles thought for a moment before he quickly returned to his static face. 

“She made everything feel okay for a while until we got back on our feet, and then things got crazy with school and stuff. Mainly werewolves and hunters and kanimas and psycho killers, your uncle is a great example there” This last part was received with a low growl.

“We gave her the necklace as a present and I had it. It was in my hands and it….it was covered in blood. I need to find it.”

“We’ll find it Stiles, there’s just other stuff-” He was cut off by Stiles who had a new tone of desperation in his voice. “I need to find it Derek. I need to.” His heart rate began to climb again and Derek could smell the frustration and anxiety starting to rolling off of him. “You don’t understand!”

“Stiles” Derek said sternly, they couldn’t do this again. “Stiles it’s okay.” and just like that Stiles snapped out of it, what he didn’t know was that the teenager was biting his cheek, seemingly a small thing but it served the same purpose as cutting or scratching. 

“Yeah” Stiles responded after a moment. The flashes of light and claps of thunder brought them back to the situation as they looked at what had happened. Derek peered out the window to see the wind bending the trees. 

How appropriate that this storm hit tonight. 

“I think we’ve had enough for one night. I’ll drive you home.” Derek stated with a cautious voice, he knew that Stiles couldn’t handle anymore tonight. 

“No I’m okay to drive, let’s go.” He stood up also prepared to go home but Derek was leaning on the damaged counter with a look of disbelief on his face .

“Stiles I am not getting into a car with you behind the wheel.” 

“Derek I’m fine.” He said heading towards the door, he had some places that were already sore and likely sporting some nasty bruises. “I’m okay to drive, trust me I’ve gotten myself home after worse.” He said this with a small smirk, almost proud of that fact. 

And that hurt Derek to know that Stiles had not only been through situations like this, but he had been alone and had to drive home in this state. His wolf, already riled from earlier was upset and Derek was having more trouble fighting it than he would like to admit. He was fine, although when he turned around to look at Stiles his eyes were glowing red for the second time that night. 

He was ready to verbally lash Stiles so that they could get to their respective homes and get some well deserved and much needed sleep. But after a peek at Derek he looked down and tossed the keys to his old blue jeep at him. 

He caught them without a word and stepped over the broken kitchen chairs as he made his way to the back door. Stiles followed with a deep sigh and heavy steps. The storm outside was still going strong and the rain was falling incessantly against the windows. 

Headlights on, wipers going fast, and heading home with heavy hearts, the ride was silent as Stiles who was usually jabbering on about something was unusually quiet. Derek knew this night had been tough, hell it was hard for him too! There was the light odor of Stiles’ blood as it was drying on his skin mixed with sadness. 

Derek didn’t understand the necklace, it was important, he got that, but there was something else that he didn’t know. If it was really that important to Stiles, he was at least going to try to find it. It would be tricky especially with the rain washing away the scent of the wendigo. 

Stiles, who was done with everything, laid his head against the window of the passenger’s side and closed his eyes, planning on just resting for a minute. The radio which had been playing lift hearted rock music earlier was turned off for the ride to the Stilinski household. Stiles pulls out his phone which is undamaged, thank god, and texts his dad, saying that there's been a change of plans and he's coming back home tonight. He doesn't get a reply.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next thing he knows they’re sitting still in his driveway with the jeep turned off and Derek looking over at him with an unreadable look on his face. 

Stiles cleared his throat and looked away, feeling like Derek saw too much of what he had been hiding for so long. He went to get out of the car without saying anything, what was there to say in this type of situation? But Derek grabbed his wrist and looked down at the floor before he spoke. 

“Stiles just- just know that if you need anything...just let me know. Like send me a text or call me and I’ll be over.” He said this very quietly as if admitting his willingness to help was a bad thing. 

“I’m sorry” This got a raised head from Derek but his hand still encircled Stiles’ skinny wrist. “You saw things that you shouldn’t have seen and I would really appreciate it if you would just forget everything that happened. It’s for the best.” Stiles spoke harshly with steeled eyes which darted around the jeep in an attempt to just get the hell out of here. 

“Does this stuff happen a lot Stiles?” When Stiles still didn't respond Derek repeated himself with a tight squeeze to the captured arm. "Because you've been acting strange and we've all noticed it. There were bandages in your room and-" His voice kept rising to the point he was bordering on yelling.

“Fuck off Derek, it’s none of your business!” Stiles said this out of fear that Derek was hitting too close to home. “And why do you care?”

“Stiles” Derek growled loudly, “Do you do this a lot, hurt yourself?” He felt himself giving into his anger, this was nothing that he took lightly and Stiles was brushing it off so easily. 

“God no! It used to be bad and I’m over it now. What part of fuck off don’t you understand?” It wasn't a blatant lie, it did use to be bad, he had to go and buy extra ace bandages at one point to cover all of the cuts.

And he was over it, the light cutting that gave cuts that lasted for a week or two. Now he was into gashes that would take months if not longer to heal and then form scar tissue. So only a lie if Derek caught onto it. Which from him remaining relatively calm, he didn't. 

That explained a lot, the gauze and the smell of blood in Stiles’ room. If things had been bad recently for the kid, it was to be assumed he might have resorted to old habits. 

“Panic attacks are normal” Derek spoke with a softness that Stiles took as pity and this only made him angry. 

“What would you know about panic attacks Derek!?” Stiles shot at the werewolf not noticing the slight flinch showing that his words affected him more than they appeared to. He instantly felt bad for yelling, but Derek had no right to say that, it wasn’t like he had them on a daily basis. 

But pity was the worst. He saw the look in his therapist’s eyes as she listened to him rant and sometimes cry out his anger and sadness. The pity hurt because people belittled him, thought less of him just because he was going through a rough life. He wasn’t less, he thought so anyways for a while. But after a while the doubt crept into his mind after so many people looked at him like that, that he was less, he was worse, he was broken. 

His teachers looked at him with pity and if he came into school with large black bags under his eyes without his homework done, they didn’t mention it when they did to other students. They took his homework a day late and never picked him to answer a question when he didn’t raise his hand. But they picked other students who had their hands on their desks or under them on their phones. But never Stiles. 

And he couldn’t stand to see that look of pity in Derek’s eyes, one of the only people he strove to impress. So he lashed out, tired of everything, and tired of trying to impress him, why did he care?, it was never going to amount to anything. 

“And why do YOU care?” He spat, the venom tangible in his voice. “Why do you suddenly care? Is it because I fell apart in front of you? Because if so, screw you! I have been dealing with this shit for so long, and you just now noticed! SCREW YOU!” 

Stiles ran out of breath and he could feel his pulse throughout his body and knew he must have a manic look on his face

“Get ahold of me if you need anything Stiles.” Derek was out of the car and ran off into the night before Stiles could apologize. Well he ruined his chances of ever trying to have a good and normal relationship with him, let alone something more. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Stiles used his key to get into the house because his dad and already gone to sleep and he always locked the door before doing so. He walked with soft steps into the kitchen where he found a small army of empty beer bottles. He knew it was hard on his dad with everything supernatural and teenage related and he tried, he really did. But after a rough day at the station, sometimes Stiles would find his dad comforting himself with alcohol. Not that he could blame him, Stiles assumes that he would too. 

He rinsed the bottles and set them in the recycling bin before taking some sleeping pills. He always took more pills than was suggested because they helped him sleep and it would just be a surprise bonus if he didn’t wake up in the morning. 

He shucked off his shoes and wandered upstairs into his bedroom where he took off his clothes and headed into his bathroom. He took a while in the water where he turned it up so hot it hurt to stand under the water stream and held out his arms and let the water sear his damaged skin. He scrubbed hard and attempted to wash until he felt better, trying to rid himself of the evening’s events. 

He considered going into his top drawer and grabbing a razor, new out of the box, and slicing until his blood was streaming down his arms, but he didn’t. 

It was one of the rare times he was simply too tired and too resigned to do anything but curl up in a ball and go to sleep. Eventually he stepped out of the shower and wrapped gauze around his re-opened wounds before covering them in gauze and put on a long sleeve shirt regardless that it was a warm night. 

Stiles plugged his earbuds into his phone and cranked the music up until the voices in his head were drowned out.

The evening had started out so innocently, an adventure for answers to a mystery. How did it end like this? They had been jabbering, well mostly he had been, but talking was involved. Hell, Derek was singing!  
Stiles had smiled for the first time in a long time. And it had felt good. 

Derek had held him as he went through his panic attack, for god’s sake, he was rubbing circles into his back and neck. How much more could he have asked for? Derek was holding him, on less than perfect circumstances but he was going to take what he could get. 

And then he messed it all up, all of it. He swore and screamed at Derek with his mind running wild in an attempt to change the subject, to steer away from the dangerous path Derek was going down. And he did it all right, Derek was probably never going to speak to him again. 

But he couldn’t reveal his biggest secret, because if Derek found out he wouldn’t be able to hurt himself anymore, and Stiles depended on it more than he did oxygen. 

Stiles eventually fell into a disturbed sleep with images that woke him up several times. But the worst was the one with his mother. 

He had a nightmare, possibly the worst one yet, the most disturbing. His mother was in the car with Martha and Bob. She was dragged through the tree tops by one of those vile creatures and Stiles could hear her screaming. Her forehead was cut and blood was falling into her eyes covering her perfect skin. 

He heard her scream as she was brought into the freezer and hung on one of the hooks, beaten and bloody, yet barely alive. They dangled the necklace in front of her face and hooked it around her neck caressing her cheek their filthy hands. Then Stiles could see as another one approached with a gun and cocked it and aimed for a moment before pulling the trigger with a sickening “click”. When her eyes rolled back into her head Stiles lost it. 

He woke up shaking and with tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind. He cried at first quietly with sobs that hurt his chest and moved his whole torso and then louder as he stopped caring. Because he wished his mom was here, she would hold him in the place of his dad. 

His dad tried, but on the occasional nights like these when he had a rough day at the station he found solace in alcohol and wouldn’t wake to the terrified screaming of his son. 

Stiles cried himself to sleep and woke up nearly every twenty minutes until the sun rose and his room was lit with the intruding sunlight. 

He lied in bed as he heard his dad wake up and grab a shower and fumble around getting ready for the day. When the sheriff walked down the hall towards his room to check on him, Stiles turned onto his side and pretended to be sleeping which was common. He always slept late on the weekends although it was less than healthy due to the depression that kept him captive under his blankets. 

When he heard the car pull out of the driveway Stiles rolled back onto his back and tried to reason with himself to get up and act like a normal person would. But the demons were relentless, so all he did was take his diet pills that he ordered online and kept under one of his floorboards and eat a measly portion of oatmeal with apple slices. 

Stiles took a shower and put on sweatpants so that his cuts that were too old to be bandaged wouldn’t accidentally bleed through. He put on a different long sleeve shirt and turned on a workout video on YouTube. 

The exercise was gruelling for his already weak body. Stiles did this routine three times in the morning and twice at night when he was able to, mostly on the weekends when he had nothing else to do. If he couldn’t keep up with his schedule he woke up early and did two videos before getting ready for school. And he restricted more food to make up for his missed exercise 

His body shook as he did sit-ups and lunges, trying to work off the imaginary fat that he was positive clung onto his hips and ribs. His wrists were too fat and his ankles looked like he was nine months prego. 

Forty-five minutes later he was soaked in sweat and had gone through two full water bottles. Stiles was the definition of exhausted and starved. He changed his ace wraps so that his wrists wouldn’t form scabs on them and changed his clothes because he hated the way the wet clothing stuck to his skin. 

After a twenty minute break involving some demanding yoga he did another video, this one an hour long. He did his crunches with images of the necklace and his nightmare with his mother scorched under his eyelids. He punched the air like it was the wendigos and kicked like he was beating the shit out of Derek. 

His muscles burned with each movement and his breathing was labored but he kept going because everything would be better when he was skinny. 

He would make first strain on the lacrosse team and have his friends hang out with him again. He would make his dad proud for once and finally be able to step on the scale and feel good about himself. There would be no more fat, only what’s necessary to get by. He would finally have happiness. 

 

When he was finally done, over three hours later with only water breaks, he was so tired that he almost fell asleep in the shower. But he felt okay for the moment. The voices were gone for now, ready to start again, but they were momentarily silent. 

Stiles then changed again, this time into another pair of sweatpants and a large, baggy sweatshirt on top of a long sleeve shirt. He turned his speaker almost all the way up and blasted his music listening to some of his favorite artists. 

While he was lounging downstairs with two heavy blankets pulled over him and watching tv his phone buzzed and lit up. Well that was new, nobody ever texted him. Unless it was to remind him that there was a meeting and the case needed new evidence.

He looked over to the coffee table where his cell was resting and saw it was Scott. Maybe he was actually free from Allison for an hour or two. 

Scott-  
gudna Dahdsurndlswiem 

Stiles-  
What?

Scott-  
Lol sorry bro, that was an accident

Stiles-  
Haha that’s okay. Want to hang out later?

Scott-  
Sorry man, I’m busy af. Maybe later

Stiles-  
S’okay. Later

Stiles curled up in on himself even more and turned the music as loud as it would go. 

He woke up an hour later shivering even though it was 75 degrees inside and his phone going off again. Assuming it was just another mistake text he ignored it. 

Stiles was just falling back into his thankfully dreamless sleep when the doorbell rang. He figured it was the mailman and turned off his speaker in favor for his earbuds which blocked out all extra noise but before he could the doorbell rang again. And again. 

He untangled himself from the blankets and trudged through the house to the front door.  
And who was there? 

Derek Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and comments! Feel free to give constructive comments. Please be nice.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek comes back and Stiles has to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this has taken so long to post but school crap...you know. College applications and SAT's and ACT's and tests, grades, transcripts, and letters of recommendation. Basically a time vacuum. Either way, it's here now! I also included a small supernatural reference because I think it fits perfectly. Enjoy!

Derek Hale is standing on his doorstep in the cloudy and drizzling weather wearing his signature leather jacket with his usual scowl. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are sunken in like he hasn’t slept all night. But Stiles can’t diss him because he’s sure he looks the same way. 

 

Why he was standing outside of his door was beyond Stiles, but he was just going to go with it. It’s not everyday that you get a second chance, if that’s even what this is. 

 

“Um.. hi?” Stiles asked with his voice rough from crying throughout the night. He was shifting his weight from one foot onto the other, very uncomfortable with the baggy clothing he was wearing and how his breath must smell because of the stomach acid that made itself apparent on a weekly basis. 

 

When he received no answer other than a tightening frown Stiles leaned against the door frame, honestly not caring anymore, he had had enough. “Why are you here and what do you want Derek?” he asked full of tiredness and sadness.

 

This make Derek take another look at the kid whom he had held in his arms shaking less than 24 hours ago. He made himself calm down and the red tint of his eyes faded into his normal green and hazel. He uncrossed his arms trying to make himself the least menacing he could manage. Derek honestly had no idea what he was doing, he was going to try to reason,  _ with Stiles _ . 

 

“Lunch.” 

 

God did Derek have the ability to talk in normal sentences?

 

“Yeah? It comes after breakfast and before dinner. Preferably in the stereotypical form of a sandwich, pickle, and chips.” he is so not cool with talking about food with Derek who is now aware of his emotional flaws since last night

 

“I mean lunch.”

 

“Yup, I got that.” Stiles knows that he’s beating around the bush here but if this is what he thinks is, bushwhacking is okay. Maybe it’ll make Derek leave so he can finally go to sleep. 

 

“I want you to go eat lunch. With me.” This is the most uncomfortable Stiles thinks he’s ever seen Derek. He’s fiddling with his keys and looking around before his eyes settle on Stiles’ torso. 

 

Stiles instantly covers his stomach with folded arms feeling incredibly self-conscious because while he’s wearing loose clothing it feels like  Derek can see right through him.

 

Red alarms were going off all over the place here. Derek and forced eating, not going to happen. 

 

_ Never.  _

 

_    Ever.  _

 

_         Ever.  _

 

Stiles spluttered and took a step back, retreating into the safety of his home. He started to turn around but Derek’s there, in the door and crowding him. 

 

“Well you see, I would really love to but Scott and I have plans ya know? Video games and pizza, girl fantasies, wildly inappropriate conversations, that kind of stuff.” Stiles knows that he is literally lying to a walking lie detector, but he’s come to accept it but that doesn’t mean he won’t try and get himself out of such a terrible situation. 

 

But he knows that Derek can tell that he’s lying because his heart is beating a million miles an hour and he’s starting to sweat even though he is absolutely freezing in his three layers of clothes. 

 

He starts to stutter as the werewolf begins to walk towards him, intent obvious in every step. 

 

“NO! Nononono. Get out Derek!  _ Get out _ !” He pushes the mountain of muscle out of the door, well he tries. 

 

Derek just invades his personal space, totally not cool there. He grabs Stiles by the shoulders and backs him up into the hallway wall. 

 

“Don’t lie to me Stiles.” he says lowly, threatening him. 

 

“That depends on how you define lying. Personally I like to think of it as reclining your body in a horizontal position.” He feels as his feet hit the baseboards and his hands reach back to touch the wall before he’s slammed against the pale paint. 

 

“And don’t be a smartass.” 

 

“I can’t help it, it’s what happens when I think.”

 

“Go get dressed, we’re going out to eat.” Derek punctuates his point by leaning in closer to Stiles each statement. 

 

_ You are not going to eat, let alone in a restaurant, and definitely not with Derek Hale.  _

 

I haven’t had a real meal in three days, I’m hun-

 

_ No.  _

 

“Technically this is my house, well my dad’s and by association, mine so I’m supposed to have more power here than you, so I’m asking you to  _ please _ stop manhandling me and get the fuck out of my house!”

 

If anything Derek gets more pissed and presses more of his body weight into him, effectively pinning him against the wall. 

 

“SHUTUP!” Well, if Derek was worried about getting his point across, it was reading loud and clear. 

 

Mad werewolf, mad werewolf, this wasn’t good.

 

After a couple of seconds where all Derek could smell was fear wafting from Stiles he backed off, taking some of the pressure off him. Derek let his shoulders relax a bit but was still crowding him so Stiles knew who was really in charge here. 

 

He was ready to try and say that he had already eaten a decent sized brunch but right then his stomach made the executive decision to rumble and give him a hunger pain. 

 

Freakin’ stomach.

 

Stiles mumbled, “So…?”

 

Derek released him and took a step back so he was in the dining room. “Get dressed, we’re leaving in ten.” Then he added after  moment of hesitation,  “And brush your teeth, you smell like vomit.”

 

“Okay” Stiles mumbled pushing past him on his way upstairs. He makes it very clear that he’s unhappy by slamming his door loud enough that he hoped it hurt Derek’s ears. 

 

Once he’s in his room he takes a deep breath because this is all too much, he can’t handle it. But he knows that if he takes too long Derek will most likely come barging up here ignoring all senses of privacy and make him get ready, so Stiles tries to hurry it up just a little bit. 

 

He runs into the bathroom and takes six pills, and he’s running low, “Damn it”. 

 

He’s going to order more tonight so they can be here in time for the weekend, amazon prime rocks for fast shipping. 

 

Stiles tugs on his darkest jeans because the darker the color, the more slimming it is on him. New socks and and a baggy shirt and his red sweatshirt that reads, “Pack Mom #24” that the pack got him for christmas last year and he’s halfway out the door before he remembers. 

 

_ Wash your teeth.  _

 

Does Derek know? He would have said something by now, right? He must have put some of the pieces together after what he let slip last night and what he smells like. But Stiles was just going to go with it because if Derek didn’t know Stiles was not going to be the one to drop that anvil on his head. 

 

But if he does know, it’s bad, really bad. He’ll make Stiles stop and then he’ll gain the weight all back on twice as fast and it’ll be harder to get off again. But he doesn’t know, or he might think he doesn't but he isn’t sure because if he was Stiles would be sporting another new bruise from being shoved around some more.  

 

It’s got to be a test. Derek’s testing him. All he has to do is eat something small, a salad and a water with maybe a few croutons to show Derek that he’s fine. Totally fine. 

 

But I’m not okay.  _ Yes you are, you’re fine, you deserve this.  _

 

Maybe Derek could understand, just let someone know, it’s hard keeping this a secret. 

 

_ No. You need this. You can control this, you feel alive. Don’t you? _

 

Yeah. 

 

_ That a boy! Now let's take some precautionary measures here, damage control.  _

_ You’re fat enough aren’t you butter boy?  _

 

Yes. 

 

_ I thought so.  _

 

So he downed another two pills because he had no idea what Derek had in store for lunch and hey, better safe than sorry right? And then he brushed his teeth, taking extra care because he knew that Derek could really tell. Then to be extra sure that Derek couldn’t smell the laxatives on him he rinsed his mouth with minty mouthwash. 

 

So maybe he mumbles slightly louder than he normally would, but the half of the point was for Derek to hear him, “Eating out with Derek fuckin’ Hale, just what I needed to top off the past two days. Just freakin’ perfect.”

 

Stiles grabbed one of his many packs of gum before shoving it in his pocket and pushing a seven-calorie mint past his lips. Puts on a spritz of cologne and takes one more look in the mirror and scowls at what he sees before trudging down his stairs. 

 

Derek turned around just as he hit the last step and he does a once over of the boy before sniffing. He was trying to be discreet but his best friend is a wolf and he knows a twitchy nose when he sees one. But Derek gives him a small nod. 

 

“I have my car so you don’t need your keys” is all Derek says when they reach the front door. 

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in the camaro” Stiles says in slight awe, he doesn’t think that Scott has been either. 

 

Derek just makes a general noise back at him.

 

The lights flash as he unlocks his black beauty and Stiles stands there feeling rather uncomfortable, “Since you’re forcing me to go to a restaurant I’m taking front seat because normally I feel like I would have to sit in the back.”

 

“You’re allowed to sit shotgun.” Is the crisp response. 

 

“I don’t know man, you and your car have a special relationship and I really don’t want to interrupt something like that”. 

 

As he’s sliding into the car he actually hears an almost non-existent snicker. 

 

So now Derek sings and hums to the radio and he snickers. Who knew. 

 

The car turns over with a purr and it makes Stiles feel bad about his jeep, they’re two different classes of vehicles. 

 

They sit idle for a while before Derek breaks the silence that Stiles is trying to ignore because apparently this food thing is actually going to happen despite how he wants to simply vanish.

 

“Where do you want to go?” 

 

“I take it that back inside isn't an option?” He wasn't above begging at this point, this is worse than a lot of the crap he’s been through. 

 

The growl and tightened fingers on the steering wheel are a confirmation. 

 

They sit in silence as Derek backs out of the driveway and onto the street. It takes a few minutes for Derek to get them out of the center of town and this is bad. This has a lot of potential to be very, very bad. 

 

Stiles’ fears are confirmed when Derek takes the second left off of the main road and onto the highway. 

 

They’re going into the city which is a half an hour from where they are. And it’s not Hollywood or anything, but there’s a lot of people and an abundance of greasy food. 

 

And he’s trapped for thirty minutes with Derek. 

 

He decides that he’s going to try and make this as uncomfortable for Derek as he possibly can, because this is all his fault. Derek’s not having any of that though. 

 

“Are you feeling okay?” well then, apparently we’re cutting the chase today. He shouldn’t have expected anything else. 

 

After a minute of thinking about actually telling the truth he settles for, “all peachy in Stilinskiville.” 

 

“Don’t lie to me Stiles!” Derek speeds up and maneuvers the car into the other lane and passes a few cars making Stiles startle as he hears the engine kick it up another notch.

 

“Fine! Chill it sourwolf. Besides the feeling constantly threatened by magical creatures, crippling nightmares, having a B in pre-calculus, and being the slowest on the lacrosse team, I’m just hunky dory.” Stiles stares out of the window watching as it starts to drizzle again, the roads are all still soaked from the weather last night. 

 

Derek slows down and pulls back into the middle lane apparently having calmed down. 

 

They sit in awkward silence for another ten minutes as they get closer to the exits before Derek turns on the radio to some crap. 

 

Stiles snorts, this music is literally the worst, they’re all the same now, cookie cutter songs. Derek gives him a once over before he asks, “what?” 

 

“This music is shit. I like 80’s and 90’s. Not to say that I can’t bust a move to some of this stuff, but I’m not the biggest fan.” He’s still looking out the window, watching as the rain droplets are pushed across the car windows by the wind. 

 

Derek turns his eyes from Stiles and back onto the road, “you can change it you know.” 

 

Stiles raises an eyebrow at Derek, “I’m allowed to sit in the car and I get to push buttons? Double win.” He says this with a small smile, the only thing that’s made him slightly happy in the past two days. Derek is such a pushover. 

 

Stiles turns the radio to a different station while the rain moves from a drizzle into harsher drops that land on the windshield with a plopping sound. 

 

Some Def Leppard is so much better than Selena Gomez, well sound wise, there is that other factor of the visual appeal of boobs, but that’s a different category. 

 

But then looking at Derek, Stiles decides that if he had to be stuck with a guy Derek was at least nice looking, and hey so what if he’s a little bit older? He’s got to have more experience right? 

 

Stiles laughs out loud at his thoughts and Derek looks over at him quizzically but lets it drop. He doesn’t need to know everything that goes through the kid’s head, it would drive him insane. 

 

Minutes fly by as he concentrates on the rain droplets falling from the grey sky and listens to the music that isn’t doing anything to calm him now.  

 

Before he even knows it Derek has pulled off of the highway and onto the exit ramp and Stiles’ heart rate rockets, he had honestly forgotten why he was in the car in the first place. If Derek notices it, he doesn't say anything. 

 

Stiles looks at all of the restaurants all lit up with their fancy signs telling them, “2 for $20”, “Best Pizza in Town!”, and “99 Restaurant, Always a Good Meal”. It makes his stomach churn and his fingers twitch knowing that he’s going to have to eat. And not just in front of Derek which is bad enough, but in front of other tables of people. Tables and tables of other wandering eyes that are going to watch him eat. 

 

After being stopped at several red lights Derek turns into the plaza that has his favorite local chain. Does Derek know he likes the food here? Because to know that he must have planned this out and talked to someone, probably Scott, the backstabbing ass. 

 

Derek cuts the engine and unbuckles, grabs his wallet and phone and opens his door, sliding out of his seat. Stiles is scared and just sits there as the rain pounds on the roof, still buckled. This is actually happening, oh god, this is happening. 

 

His breathing picks up as reality sets in. He can’t get out of this, there’s no way the Derek will just bring him back home and he can’t exactly explain himself to the man without having psychiatric counseling sessions twice a week. 

 

He’s trapped.

 

He starts to freak out and habitually reaches for his wallet that he did think to bring even though he’s making Derek pay, because it carries something more precious and shinier than his ATM card.  His fingers open up the folds and he almost reaches in. 

 

Stiles remembers how this little piece of metal has been his best friend for the past few years and now again more recently. He knows how it pulls and separates his skin and how for a split second he can see the white tissue that holds himself together and how he makes himself stop every night, but he doesn't know why. 

 

A fat pig with no one to love him, no friends to hang out with, and no purpose. He doesn't know why he doesn't just do it, end it all. 

 

_ Because there’s something called hope you dolt  _ his brain supplies to him and as he looks out the window, focusing his gaze on the restaurant in front of him and the dark figure walking around the vehicle. Because for some idiotic reason he hopes that Derek might on a whim start to not shove him against every hard surface he can find. 

 

But then there’s a loud knock on his window and he looks out to see a scowling and rather wet Derek motioning for him to hurry up and get out of the car. Stiles shuts his wallet and unbuckles before sliding out into the rain too. 

 

The cuts on his hip that he put there this morning are rubbing against his jeans and he’s happy he’s wearing the darker pair, if they bleed through by accident, it’ll be hard  to see. 

 

He and Derek run into the restaurant and once they’re out of the downpour Derek shakes off, and Stiles has to concentrate so hard to not make a wet dog joke, but does slip a small laugh. By the look that Derek shoots his way, he thinks that Derek got the gist of his thoughts. 

 

He watches as Derek steps forward to talk to the busser and she takes a look at him and Stiles can see her train of thought derail. If he was a girl he would totally think Derek was hot too. 

 

And maybe he thinks that Derek is hot even if he is a guy, so what? 

 

_ You’re a freak, that’s what! _

 

No I’m not.

_ Yes you are.  _

_ Cutter.  _

 

_ Depressed.  _

 

_ Bisexual _

 

_ Anorexic _

 

_ Bulimic _

 

How can it be so hard to act like he’s not fighting a war in himself. He’s exhausted and he hasn’t done anything other than sit on the couch and listen to music, but that’s what happens when you’re fighting yourself. 

 

When a baby cries from right next to him Stiles startles. The baby has bright blue eyes just like he used to have, with a bright smile and grabbing hands. What he would give to go back to the simple days where nothing mattered. When the mother catches Stiles eye she gives him a small smile and bounces the baby on her knee some more.  When the busser grabs some menus Stiles moves his empty gaze to Derek again. 

 

She eventually gathers herself up and motions to Derek as she heads into the restaurant and Derek gives him a look and nods for him to follow. So he does. 

 

It’s rather scary how a switch in him can flip. 

 

Just like that, the reality of publically eating just ruined his day and now he feels terrible, physically because he wants to throw up and mentally because he wants to cry, neither of which he can do at the moment. 

 

The busser brings them to a booth across from the bar which gives them a great view on three different tv screens. One shows baseball and the other two football. Menus are put down on the table and Stiles can hear some vague noise before Derek kicks him under the table. 

 

Totally uncalled for. “What was that for?”

 

“You were zoning out.”

 

“That’s what happens when nothing exciting is happening.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles at the same time a waitress appears asking what they would like to drink. Derek gets a milkshake, really? a milkshake? Stiles orders a water which earns him a barely contained glare. 

 

“You _ are _ going to eat something.” Derek asks him, startling Stiles out of his thoughts once again. 

 

“Yeah, I’m hungry anyways” he mutters before flipping through the menu, nothing catching his eye. He really is hungry, he hasn’t had a real meal in three days. He just ignores his stomach and works out instead, trying to not pay attention to the hunger pains. 

 

_ Calories are bad, they make you fat fatass.  _

 

_ Don’t even think of getting anything other than a damn salad. You don’t deserve food, food is for skinny people who earn their shape. Not you.  _

 

After a minute Derek puts his menu down and looks at him. 

 

“Do you know what you’re getting?” he asks like he actually cares. 

 

“Still looking.” He knows that he’s going to have to actually eat something, but it doesn’t have to stay down, there’s a bathroom and he has mint gum plus the pills he took. It’s okay he tells himself, this will all work out. “I was thinking about a salad.”

 

“I am not paying for you to eat rabbit food.” Derek says without taking his eyes off of the menu, still deciding himself. 

 

There’s an idea and it’s actually a decent one, all he needs to is order a disgusting burger and eat it, just to prove to Derek that he’s eating so he’ll stop being all up in his case. Just a burger and fries, that’s all, he can do that. 

 

_ Do not. No. You will not eat a cheeseburger and french fries.  _

 

_ A second on the lips, forever on the hips.  _

 

He pulls his right hand down and into his lap where he presses his fingertips into where he knows the cuts are. The split second pain is worth the act, it centers him and he knows that the voices are right. He can’t do this, he can’t eat. There are people everywhere and they’re all going to judge him. 

 

They’ll talk about how he’s fat and they’ll think about him when they get home and joke about how the fat kid ordered a burger and fries. 

 

Stiles’s breathing picks up and his foot starts tapping erratically on the floor under the booth. 

 

Derek tears his gaze away from the football game on the big screens and shoots his a worried look. “Stiles? You okay?”

 

When he responds his voice is shakier than he would like to admit, “Yeah, just a little cold. Like why do restaurants always have the air conditioning on?”

 

A minute of tense silence passes before Derek looks him in the eye. “What’s going on?”

 

“I’m sitting in a restaurant booth wondering why there’s no ketchup and freezing my fat ass off over here while watching my dad’s favorite team get their butts kicked.”

 

“I’m sure we can get some ketchup at our table. What are you getting?” 

 

The moment of truth. “A burger with lettuce and tomato, no onion because that stuff is just disgusting.” 

 

Derek shoots him a pleasantly surprised look, but it’s still guarded. “and fries” he adds. Derek’s head snaps up looking rather stunned and to be honest he is too. He just signed his soul to the devil in his own blood. 

 

The corner of Derek’s mouth turns up in the smallest of smiles, and it makes Stiles’ heart skip a beat. He never really gets to see him happy, there’s always fighting and death and pain. 

 

Stiles smiles at the waitress who puts their drinks on the table in front of them and Derek goes right for the whipped cream on top of his strawberry milkshake. 

 

“What can I get you guys?” It’s an innocent question but it carries such a heavy burden. Derek orders his BLT with extra bacon and that doesn’t surprise him at all. Then the pretty face with the pretty blue eyes and blonde hair turns to him, looking expectantly for him to tell her what he wants. 

 

But he can’t. So he does what he’s always done. Without even thinking about what he’s doing he’s gone. He slides out of the booth, knocking over the milkshake and the glass hits the floor, the cherry landing in a pile of pink calories. 

  
He runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two and a half long months but it's here! I hope you liked the chapter, well as much as you can like it with Stiles still struggling. Either way the next chapter is already under way, and I'm also working on some small other stories so I'm excited for those too! Thank you guys so much for sticking with me after such a delay, you guys are the best. Please let me know what you guys think,I really like comments. And if you are struggling with any of these things, keep marching on.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek sees just how bad things have gotten for Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet!!! The stuff in italics is primarily Stiles' thoughts, they're often argumentative with his other thoughts. Thanks for sticking with me, Hope ya love it

“Stiles?!”

It takes Derek a second to understand what’s happening but as soon as he does he’s gone. He pushes past the waitress with a hurried, “sorry” before he takes off after Stiles. His scent isn’t hard to follow even if it’s raining hard. The smell of fear, sadness, and loathing are easy to catch. After less than thirty seconds of running through the parking lot he sees Stiles. It feels like he’s on overdrive- his need to find Stiles is so potent in him it’s all he can concentrate on.  

He runs even faster as he gets closer, wanting to only make him feel better. It was a stupid idea bringing him out to eat. Derek knew Stiles was having some sort of eating problems and this had only made it worse. He brought him to a public place without even asking anything. He had put that pressure on his pack mate without a concern for his well being. The rain on his cheeks hit cold and hard, unforgiving. Just like he expects Stiles to be towards him.

When he gets to Stiles his heart breaks because he can hear his heartbeat and how fast it is, pumping with adrenaline and anxiety, and he knows he made him this way. Derek reaches out and quickens his pace grabbing onto Stiles’ right shoulder and tugging him backwards and into his arms. But he  falls and they both tumbled into a puddle on the shoulder of the road, his arms curled protectively around Stiles.

\-----------------------------------------

Just as Stiles turns his head to look at the oncoming headlights he’s tackled full force to the side and he hears a snarl before his body is whipped from where it was a moment ago. He tumbles to the ground with strong arms wrapped around his torso and the lights blur as he spins.

When he hits the concrete his head hurts, it hurts so bad. There are hands shaking him but he can’t concentrate. He was going to have to eat. He couldn’t do that.

He had worked to hard to eat. The numbers on the scale were finally lower, 127.5 is what it was when he stepped on the scale before putting on his clothes to go with Derek.

He can’t eat. Derek was going to make him eat.

Someone is sobbing obnoxiously and he wants them to just shut up. After a minute he realizes that it’s him. He can’t tell the difference between his tears and the rain falling on his cheeks as Derek picks him up out of the puddle they fell into on the sidewalk. Stiles feels his legs being scooped up and his head cradled against a strong shoulder before the recognition that they’re walking back to the restaurant sets in. Stiles just doesn't have it in him to fight the warm arms. His body is exhausted from fighting this invisible war.

In any other situation he would be freakin’’ ecstatic about Derek carrying him around bridal style and making joke until his stomach hurt from laughing. But that wasn’t the case. The rain rolls down Derek’s jacket and onto his cold cheek where his tears are mixing with the water. The nasty words that that voice shouts at him are deafening.

_Fat, Fat, Fat, Fatass, Freak, Fat, Fat, Fat, Fatty, Fucked Up Fat Freak_

The steady motion of swaying in his arms is comforting as his brain refuses to function. He knows that he’s cold and he was going to eat. Nothing else matters now. The rain running into his eyes stings and he can feel Derek’s arms readjust him but he’s numb.

His head hurts and he’s so cold. The rhythmic movements pull him from consciousness as he lets the blackness pull him under. Everything just hurts so much. It’s almost too easy to let go.

When he comes to, it’s only minutes later to Derek shaking his shoulder. The rain is still so frigid against his sensitive skin and his head is throbbing.

“Stiles, hey come back to me.” Derek was moving his shoulder, bumping Stiles’ head. “Come on Stiles.”

“Yup, I’m here.” Stiles slurs his words as he tries to concentrate but oh my god it hurts.

It pains Derek to see the teen this way, so broken and fragile. Has anyone noticed before? And why did it take him so long?

“We need to go back inside.” Derek knows that the waitress is probably freaking out because they have a bill to pay and they both just ran out. “I need to pay the bill.”

If there was anything that was wrong to say, that was it. “NO! I’m not hungry!” Stiles shouts before realizing just how much it hurts his head. “Not hungry” he mumbles a moment later, “not hungry.” He twists in Derek’s arms in a feeble attempt to break free and stop the advance towards the restaurant.

“I know you’re not hungry, but I do need to pay for what we ordered.” Derek was getting more agitated by the second but he had to remind himself of how fragile Stiles was right now. He was practically broken. “It’ll just take a minute, you don’t even have to come with me you can sit on the bench.”

Stiles may not be there all together but it does click in his brain that Derek is taking him back into the hell hole of food. “No! Let me go Derek! I’m not hungry!” God his head hurt so much but it was insignificant compared to his fear of eating, he was not going back in there. He struggled in Derek’s strong arms trying to wiggle himself free and managed to land a solid elbow into the wolf’s ribs which earned him a soft grunt and a tightened vise grip on his weak body. “For god’s sake Stiles, calm down. It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

“I can’t go back in there.” Stiles whispered softly. “They’ll look at me.” For speaking so quietly it was filled with conviction, like he knew that the people would be judging him for returning to the restaurant. It was laced with the potent scent of despair and it tugged on Derek’s heart in ways he hadn’t felt in years.

He knew he would do whatever it took to keep the teen safe. Even if it meant not forcing him to eat and maybe just being more gentle around him. Starting with not making him even more scared. Stiles was shaking in his arms, the cold quickly making him shiver because of his lack of heat his body could  produce and his alarmingly small amount of body fat. Derek needed to keep him safe and healthy, and not getting him sick would be a good first step.

“Please don’t make me go back in there Derek.” Those hopeless words made him so sad and he felt so terrible in the moment, he couldn’t deny Stiles anything.

“Okay, um, here. Stand up.” Derek puts Stiles on his feet next to the camaro. As soon as Stiles’ feet touched the asphalt he hissed in pain and if Derek hadn’t been there to hold him up, he would have been on the ground again. His knee hurt so bad, it rivaled that in his head and it made him want to just puke. And he may have made a really wimpy whine as his legs fell out from underneath of him. Derek grunted as he lifted him up and fished the car keys out of his pocket.

A moment later the lights flashed and he was opening the door and placing one very wet, cold, and hurt Stiles Stilinski into the passenger seat. “Are you okay? What does it feel like, sharp pain or dull? Do you think you sprained it?” God he hurt the kid mentally and now physically too. Great way to treat the person you may care about. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

“It’s okay Sourwolf, just hurts a little bit. No hospitals. I just want to go home. I’m cold” Stiles replies without any hint of well, _anything_ in his voice. “I’m okay, just tired.” Derek could hear his heartbeat slowing down again and feel him shivering, he needed to get warmed up. “no hospitals…”

“Here’s the keys, turn on the heat.” He closed the door and opened the back door producing a blanket before opening the passenger door once again and dropping it on Stiles’ lap. “I’ll be back in a minute.” With that the consternated man left him in the cold car while walking back inside the restaurant.

Stiles sat for a minute in the cold and in pain as he tried to wrap his head around what he had just done. He lost it, that’s what. He couldn’t get a grip so he ran like a fucking loser and then Derek followed him and now he probably has a concussion and a sprained left knee. Perfect.

He put the key in the ignition and turned it, the radio startling him from his thoughts. “Fuck!” Quickly turning the volume down and the heat on he settled into the leather seat tucking the blanket around him.

Why was it so cold?

It took a minute for Stiles to realize that there was an uncomfortable object digging into his fatty hip before he remembered it was his wallet. After a minute of consideration he decided that he couldn’t take his blade out here. He’s too exposed. Home. He can punish himself at home. A promise he makes.

Stiles is too busy digging his wallet out of his pocket and inspecting it to make sure everything was still in there to notice Derek walking towards the car. His hair is damp and dripping because the rain has picked up again.

He flips it open and shoves his fingers into the leather searching for his razorblade, hoping to god that it hadn’t fallen out on accident when they fell onto the ground. Just when he felt a prick on his index finger and knew that it was still in its place the drivers’ side door opened. Derek slid into his seat and took off his jacket immediately, no sense in wearing a soaking coat.

“Everything okay?” is the crisp question.

“Um..yeah, just making everything is still in there after the tumble.” It isn’t technically a lie so Derek couldn’t have possibly picked it up. He closes his wallet and wipes his finger on his jeans before returning it to his pocket, content in knowing that he can have release when he gets home.

Today has literally been the best day for joke opportunities but nothing's funny anymore, not when he’s fucked up so royally. There were close proximity jokes and being carried jokes, not to mention the wet dog ones. But the mood was so serious he didn’t dream of trying to crack one.

Derek leans over and okay wow, “heads up next time there big guy, personal space and everything.” Stiles quips at him as the older man reaches across his body and grabs his seat belt and locks it in place before doing the same for himself.

“Your seat belt was unbuckled and there’s not reason for you to move when I’m perfectly capable of doing it for you. Just stay bundled up, the heat will kick on once we get moving.” With that he turns on his headlights, buckles himself, puts the car in drive and heads back to the Stilinski house.

The majority of the drive back home is spent listening to cars pass and the rain fall on the roof. Silence has never been more appreciated by Stiles, yet it’s never been so intimidating.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, the question not needed to be stated for them to both be on the same page.

Stiles immediately blushes with embarrassment and buries his head further into the blanket. “yeah?” he asks timidly.

“What was that?” And it’s surprising because the question has no heat in it, no anger or disappointment. When Stiles looks at him all he can see is pure concern in his perfect green eyes, and that’s a game changer. After a minute of silence where the gears are moving in Stiles’ head but nothing comes out Derek rephrases his question. “Was it me?” That gets a response.

“God no it wasn’t you. Life is just fucked up ya know? Everybody has stuff.” That’s as much as he elaborates before silencing himself before he talks too much and lets something else slip. He’s already just admitted to having some sort of thing, the less he speaks the better.

After another few minutes of now uncomfortable silence Derek tries again.

“What type of stuff Stiles? What’s going on? You passed out in school-” Derek talks sternly now without taking his eyes off of the road.

“You know about that?! Who told you?” If it was Scott again, Stiles is going to flip.

“The pack did. We had a meeting the other night to discuss some things.” Derek puts on his turn signal and then they’re on the exit ramp close to being back to Beacon Hills.

“Was it Scott? Did he tell you?” Stiles swears under his breath, he thought that his friend would be nice enough  and maybe just a little understanding to keep his mouth shut for once. The goofy dumb-ass was really being a major annoyance recently. “And you had a meeting without me?”

_Why would they want you there anyways? You just get in the way. Worthless._

“Does really matter?” Derek slows down as they reach the outer town speed limit. Stiles nods his head. “But no, Isaac told me although everyone knew. They did have to call an ambulance for you. It’s a small town, word travels.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” he says with a heavy sigh, of course Derek would want to take him out to eat after hearing what happened.

_Gotta keep the problem solver alive and working._

“They’re all worried about you.” Derek sends him the smallest glance laced with concern.

“It’s not really anything, they’re just blowing everything out of proportion, making it bigger than it is-.” Stiles replies quietly, trying to convince Derek and more importantly himself.

“Is what happened back there nothing Stiles?! I don’t think so.” Derek’s voice immediately drops lower and more menacing as he cuts Stiles off.

Stiles doesn’t answer that but stares out the window watching the familiar houses pass by.

He knows that he’s lying but he can’t come to admit the reality that he has these problems. It would mean more therapy and meds again. He took himself off of his medicine a few months ago. But since he keeps the pill bottles in his room his dad never notices that he simply flushes them down the toilet each night.

They made him feel even worse than he was without them. His scheduled therapy sessions with Dr. Mullen had finally been decreased to monthly and the opportunities to come in sooner if he needed to. Which he didn’t.

Stiles was too busy in his thoughts that he was startled when moments later the car turned into the driveway and Derek turned off the car. Stiles readjusted himself realizing just how warm he had gotten. His cheeks and eyes were still red from crying and he probably had some snot on his sleeve. Gross. “Let’s get you inside” is the suggestion from the werewolf.

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles wiggles himself out of his blanket cocoon and unbuckles himself getting ready to go inside when his knee throbs again. “Fuck that hurts!” He utters to himself and if Derek didn’t have wolf hearing he would never have picked it up, but he did.

“Here, let me.” Derek was opening his door and sliding his arms around his torso, starting to pick him up when he pushed against his circling arms.

“I’m not a paraplegic. I can walk!” He almost feels bad about snapping at him but the voices are yelling at him,   _make him go away, you have a blade to attend to._

“I know” is the short retort as Derek ignores the teen and picks him up easily anyways from the car and shuts the door with his foot before walking to the front door.

Stiles has never felt more stupid. He can walk, so what if it hurts a little bit? What’s a little pain to save his manly dignity. “Door should be unlocked, people know not to come on here during the day at least. Or they just don't care, it’s not like we’ve got silver forks or a jacuzzi bathtub, although that would be hard to steal upon second thought. We do lock the door a night ya’ know? Better safe than sorry even if my dad does sleep with his pistol in his nightstand.” God his rambling gets so bad when he’s nervous.

Derek just remained quiet and walked up to the door pausing to shift Stiles so one hand was just free enough to grab the doorknob.

Sure enough the door is unlocked this time and Derek sets him on his feet, leaning heavily on his right leg. Stiles flicks the lights on and sheds his drenched coat, throwing it on the floor before he sits on the bench under the window and slides his shoes off, not bothering to unlace them. His body is wracked with a shiver as his body reacts to the air which isn’t even that cold, but he feels like it is.

“You need to get warmed up.” Derek has taken off his shoes, bad sign, he’s supposed to be going home. “The air isn’t cold so it’s just you; a hot shower will help.” Derek slides over next to Stiles and slides his arms under his legs and around his chest carrying him bridal-style for the third time in the last hour and a half. Stiles is just letting it happen at this point, there’s no way Derek is going to give up.

Up the stairs and Stiles reaches over to turn on the hall lights and then he’s being deposited on his bed, the comforter quickly bunching around him as Derek looks around.

“You can head home now. I mean like thanks for everything but I can take it from here.” He slipped off of his bed and walk-hopped over to his closet where he grabbed his light blue bathrobe. He had asked for a green one, like a forest green, nice and rich, but his dad had forgotten. Whatever it served the purpose.

Derek doesn’t answer but Stiles can see it in his eyes, he doesn’t want to leave. His eyebrows have moved into position number three of undecided and he’s standing rock still but his eyes are flickering around, taking in his room.

Stiles gets nervous quickly, fretting as Derek’s eyes linger on his bed and rug for what he feels is too long. Then the man turns his gaze to his nightstand and his eyes turn stormy as he battles to conceal what he’s feeling. The smell of blood and medicine, more than there should be of either. What Stiles doesn’t know is that while his back was turned to Derek, the man’s eyes flashed red in a lapse of control. He isn’t stupid, this was just the last straw.

“I’m staying.” Stiles whips around, worry showing in his eyes.

 _Derek needs to go home and now_.

“Really, it’s okay. I know how to take a shower.” He moves towards his bathroom in an attempt to get to the main event and to get Derek to go home. His knee is hurting like a bitch but he’s putting some more weight on it in a try to convince Derek that he’s okay. “So um, I’m gonna go get naked and take a shower and when I open this door again you’re going to be gone.”

_Show him, you’re strong so he’ll leave you alone._

But I don’t want him to leave. I want him to stay.

_You need to cut, you NEED it!_

What if Derek stays? Then I won’t need to.

_Don’t lie to yourself, Derek is looking for an excuse to leave, he’s just being a good pack leader and making sure you’re okay so he can leave with a clear mind. Besides, you always need to hurt yourself, don’t deny it._

That’s not how he is anymore, he cares.

_Maybe about the others, but not you. No one likes you. No one will ever care about you. You’re pathetic and he wants to get the hell out of here._

Maybe he does care.

_You’re kidding yourself. Get him out._

But he took to me to lunch, well he tried. He didn’t have to, he cares.

_Yeah, and you wanna know what? Maybe he did for a split second, but you fucked that up too._

Just a little, he cares just a little bit.

_You fucked it up. He doesn’t care, because who can care about someone who breaks everything? You deserve the pain, it’s punishment. And you deserve it._

I don’t want to be alone again. I don’t want to be alone.

_You’re just putting it off, you know what’s going to happen._

But it doesn’t have to.

_You’re lying to yourself, ten more._

No.

_Excuse me?_

_Ten more._

Why?

_Because you are worthless. You know it and you know what you need to do right now. So shut up idiot._

_Man up and slice n’ dice **bitch**._

“Stiles?” Derek is suddenly right there next to him with his stormy green eyes looking so concerned that it almost makes Stiles re-think that whole conversation he just had.

“Yeah, sorry. Um…”  Stiles is struggling to keep himself together. It’s just a stupid conversation that didn’t even actually happen yet it’s signing his contract for the next hour or two. He’s tripping over his own tongue and the result is silence. God it’s like Derek is trying to look into his soul or some crap with that stare.

“Peter texted me, I need to go.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself that he needs to go. But then he takes a step towards the door. “I’ll text you later but there’s another pack on the borderline out in the woods. We’re not going to take any chances this time.”

_YES YES YES YES YES_

No, please don’t go. Please don’t leave me Derek. Please.

“Okay, let me know what happens later.” Stiles shoots into the hallway as he watches Derek’s muscular shoulders disappear down the stairs. A part of him dies again when he hears the front door shut watches out his window as Derek slide into the camaro and turn on his headlights, pulling out into the storm once again.

Once the tail lights turn around the corner Stiles loses all of his remaining composure. He sobs as he limps into his bathroom and shuts the door with a light click. He pulls up his playlist of the saddest songs he owns and turns it all the way up.

The tub gets plugged and the water turned on as hot as it will go. Normally he would have it as cold as he could when taking a bath. The cold forces your body to fight to stay at a normal temperature, burning more calories and it makes you shiver, which also burns more calories. But he’s too cold right now, too numb.

He pulls out his razor blade from where he has it taped to the underside of his drawer, it’s brand new. Stiles had been saving it for a time worthy or corrupting the shiny metal. Today more than qualifies. With his secret in hand he sinks into the scaldingly hot water and hisses as the newer cuts on his hips and inner thighs become submerged. He isn’t sure if he likes cutting anymore, it’s not like he has a choice. It’s an addiction, he’s not stupid. it has become so ingrained into his daily routine as a coping strategy he’s knows he couldn’t do without it.

_Peter didn’t text Derek, he never looked at his phone. He just wanted to get away from you, he’s too embarrassed to want to spend time with a fatty. He lied to you._

_If you were skinny he would want to spend time with you. Jackson and Scott have girlfriends. The difference? You’re fucked up and fat. If you were thinner you could have a girlfriend. Maybe you could have Derek. You need to lose weight._

As he sings along to the sad song, he brings the blade down on his outer right thigh. The angle is perfect for digging in deep.

The cuts add up as the song goes on, he keeps the movement of his wrist in time with the beat of the song. before it’s over he has 30 new cuts running red into the bath tub, turning the water a sickening pink.

After a couple of more minutes it turns a dark orange as he lies there and feels the sting of the hot water on his sliced skin. Whenever he feels like they’re clotting up he takes his washcloth and rubs it harshly against his cuts, reopening them to restore the flow of blood into the water. Another song and the water is red.

Stiles has finally stopped crying by now. The steady movement and splitting skin revealing white tissue before it floods with blood and mixes with the clear water is grounding. He stares mesmerized as the liquids mix and he thinks that it’s absolutely beautiful. Almost reckless with how many open cuts littler his thigh now.

But he’s careful, never too much. But just enough to where the buzz feels good and he can close his eyes for a minute and relax into the pain that he deserves. Never enough to the point where he passes out or might die. And almost never on his wrists.

The wrists are too vulnerable of a position, all it would take is a chemistry lab to need rolled-up sleeves and boom, it’s all out there. No way.

His right thigh is too marred and his left to empty so he switches legs for the next song, making them more equal.

_Ten. You need ten more. You’re a terrible person and need your extra ten._

One. Two. Stiles is too dazed out and his music is too loud to hear the door downstairs open and close again. He’s too busy concentrating on the Third new cut to hear footsteps pounding up the stairs and the Fourth to recognize that his bedroom door was slammed shut.

Five. Six, Seven.

Eight, Nine, Te-

The bathroom door is opened with so much force that it scares Stiles and his wrist jerks, digging into his skin so much deeper than he would normally go.

The drag of his skin being forced apart startles him as the pain sinks in and his eyes go wide as the blood flows out faster than it ever has.

But it doesn’t matter because there in his soaking wet clothes with matted hair and red eyes and fangs bared is the one-and-only Derek Hale.

_Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit!_

This is not supposed to happen! Stiles flounders around in the bathtub recklessly grabbing onto his razor tightly afraid Derek will take it as he tugs at the shower curtain trying to prevent Derek from seeing everything. The old scars and the new cuts still bleeding into the bath water that has suddenly gotten way too hot.

Derek is just standing there shocked. It’s too much to take in. He isn’t able to believe that this is the funny, smartass, bat-carrying, babbling teenager that he knows. And loves, his brain helplessly supplies. This is so wrong.

The smell, that metallic tangy and horrible smell that’s covering the whole bathroom despite the fan being on. And the sadness and despair that he’s smelled more today than he ever wanted to.

Stiles. It’s really Stiles laying in the water with a razor blade in his trembling fingers. Bleeding. And sobbing. His wolf is going absolutely feral with the desire to protect and comfort and patch up. After ripping the vile metal from his long fingers.

Derek had only left to see what would happen. This wasn’t remotely close to on his radar.

\-------------------

He had forced himself to leave to Stiles, saying that Peter needed him. He couldn’t look Stiles in the eyes as he practically shoved his way past him and down the stairs, trying to ignore the heartbeat that was picking up and the hiccupped breathing. He needed to see what would happen.  

He walked through the rain to his car while feeling eyes burning into his back. Once he turned the ignition and shifted into reverse Derek took a deep breath and steeled his plan backing out into the road and drove around the corner. He pulled into an empty park and left his car there, out of sight from the road. He sat there for several minutes contemplating his life choices, should he even be doing this? It took longer than was ideal to make sure he was in control before Derek was confident enough to go back to Stiles.

He ran back to the house and person he had just left. Derek was only gone for twenty minutes. It wasn’t until he got back to the Stilinski house that he knew he had made a mistake. Stiles’ bedroom light was turned off but the loud music was pouring out of the upstairs.

Seconds later he was opening the front door and pounding up the stairs, muddy shoes forgotten in his haste leaving tracks on the tile and then carpet as he barged into Stiles’ bedroom. The music was so loud it hurt his ears but it was nothing compared to the smell. The scent so thick he might as well have been drinking it.

He couldn’t help it anymore but his wolf slipped through, fangs dropping and eyes glowing a fierce red. His hands grabbed the doorknob and shoved the door in revealing something worse that what he expected. The teen was bleeding profusely from both thighs and hips, some cuts on his lower stomach.

The word, FAT, carved into his skin on the top of his left thigh.

Derek wanted to vomit. He had done this, Stiles was hurting because of him. He tried to make him eat and the result was this, a blood bath.

He quickly focused on the situation at hand, snapping out of his rapid thoughts. The one cut was deep and blood was steadily flowing from it, it might need stitches

Stiles’ wide and dazed eyes lock on his own as shock and horror ripples across his face.

In one determined movement Derek lunged forward so he was on his knees next to the tub and was wrenching the blade out of his hands.

“No!” He shrieks when Derek grabs his forearms in one strong hand and the blade with the other.

“Stiles, let go!” Never has Derek been so afraid of such a small piece of stainless steel.

Stiles struggles with all that he has against Derek but it’s no match. The now mangled metal is flung across the room and when Stiles tries to retrieve it Derek growls at him. Stiles moves in the tub and quickly grabs a towel from the planned pile on the toilet lid and drags it over his man stuff, wincing when his cuts are pulled at by his movement. Because while Derek was in the bathroom with him during a self-mutilation episode, there were certain things Stiles was not going to allow. Letting Derek look at his junk even by accident was on the list.

His crying is ugly and disgusting, uncontrollable sobbing because Derek knows. He knows

There isn’t anything other than the sound of his crying for a couple of seconds as Derek really takes in what‘s before him.

“.......”

Dozens of cuts litter Stiles’ thighs, all open and bleeding, some deeper than others and a handful of very deep ones that really need to be cleaned and bandaged. He’s still shocked. Stiles had admitted to some scratching but this wasn’t in the same ball park. The scratching nails were child’s play compared to this self-destruction.

Stiles begins repeating the same phrase over and over at first too quiet and mumbled for Derek to understand but eventually he does. .

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please. I’m sorry Derek.” Is what is being mumbled. Stiles bows his head towards his chest and curls up as much as his long limbs can in the small tub. He messed up and now Derek knows.

Derek tries to come up with a response but his tongue has turned to lead so he leaves the teen whispering to him. Derek puts his hands hovering over his body, wanting to stop the bleeding and fix the clearly shattered boy, but he doesn’t know where to touch, everything is smeared with red.

Stiles is so confused and scared that he isn’t feeling anything anymore, but is more floating. His brain is shutting down in refusal to acknowledge what’s happening. If he was more with it he would swear that he heard Derek whine.

Moments later Derek’s strong arms are supporting his back while pulling the drain plug letting the horrendous liquids swirl down the pipes and away from them.

“I’m sorry Derek” The weak voice strains after it’s abuse yelling and crying and it hurts Derek more than anything has in a long time.

“Stiles…” He still can’t find any words to fix the situation, what can he say? He settles on, “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.” Derek knows that everything is most certainly not okay but it’s what his mother used to tell him when he or Cora was hurt.

Derek pushes the tower of towels down and onto the floor so that there’s room for Stiles to sit on the toilet lid. He picks the teen up from the red water and gently lifts him from the tub and places him down, a towel under him and one over his groin. Another is around Stiles’ shoulders where it lies limply.

But he’s gone, Stiles simply feeling Derek’s hands on him as he pats towels on his legs and looks around for a first aid kit. After a moment Derek stands up and Stiles makes a soft gurgling sound in protest.

“Shh, I’m not going anywhere Stiles, I just need to find some bandages.” Derek moves efficiently and quickly locates the ace bandages in the back of his last drawer and stifles another growl as he notices they’re all covered in dried blood.

He moves back so he is kneeling in front of Stiles and is startled to see that the blue towels are becoming spotted where the blood is staining the fabric. He applies more pressure to the deeper cuts on the outside of his wrecked thighs. They might need stitches.

What saddens Derek even more is the old scars, ranging from silvery white, months old at least  to bright pink, only days or weeks old. Pushing his emotions aside because that what needs to be done he gets down to business. He wets another washcloth and gently rubs at the caking blood on his legs, carefully avoiding the tens of laceration that litter the pale skin. “God Stiles…”

Stiles just cries quietly sitting on the towel as Derek takes care of him.

The gentle touches that are meeting his skin only make Stiles cry harder, he doesn’t deserve such tenderness and affection. Derek kneels in front of the broken teen and gently lifts Stiles’ right leg and places it elevated on his knee.

“This is going to sting but I need to clean them.” When Derek takes the bottle and runs it over his cuts Stiles doesn’t flinch, the adrenaline and shock numbing his body.

He slowly spreads antibiotic cream onto his fingertips and lathers the angry red cuts with it. Butterfly strips are used to pull the edges of the cuts together and closed.

Not wanting the wounds to heal into the fabric of the wrap he places damp gauze pads on the most severe of the cuts and makes sure they won’t slide. Then he reaches over to the bandage and begins to wrap it around the torn thigh. Starting slightly above Stiles’ knee, he winds the ace bandage over around and around but eventually runs out and has to start another roll.

Stiles can tell that Derek is barely staying in control as he snivels and rubs the constant flow of tears out of his eyes. Once his right leg is done Derek repeats the process just as gently on his left leg.

Stiles is drifting in and out of consciousness, nearly falling asleep sitting upright.  

“Stay awake for a little longer Stiles.”

“Yup, gotcha.” He says his head lolling from side to side as he is overcome by the physical exhaustion that’s been chasing him for days.

Finally he takes another washcloth and wipes the blood off of his hands and stomach. There’s a smudge on his cheek and his feet have a fine layer of drying liquids on them that he cleans. Once he is done Derek doesn’t even give him the chance to protest, he swoops in and cradles the teen against his bloody shirt, bringing him into his room.

He places Stiles on the edge of his bed and looks around. “Where are your pajamas?”

“Second drawer in the dresser” is the barely audible response, voice raspy and weak. Derek walks over and pulls the drawer and a small smirk passes his lips when he sees Batman pajamas. Digging for some less important clothes he comes to the back of the drawer and his fingers brush past something that is definitely not fabric. He pulls out a small black box and considers leaving it before he realizes what could be inside.

His worst fears are confirmed when he sees several razor blades in all shapes and sizes stashed inside the box. He turns around to confront Stiles but is met with a slumped body on his comforter and light and easy breathing, his face the most peaceful Derek has seen him in a long time. Deciding to let him keep sleeping he simply pocketed the box and grabbed some plain plaid pants and a grey shirt.

“I just need to get you dressed.” He is met with complete silence as Stiles continues to sleep. The stress of the day has finally caught up to him. He carefully slides the pant legs over his calves and thighs and settles the waistband above his hips. Derek cradles his head as he puts the shirt on and then scoops up the limp boy and manages to pull his sheets back and slide him under them, tucking him in the way his mom used to.

Settling the boy is simple but managing the torrent of emotions that follows, is not. How has everything gotten bad?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep popping your head into the work once in a while(maybe subscribe to me?), I'll keep updating!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically Stiles wakes up, and Derek is still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, a lot has been going on to say the least

The soft feeling of the blankets beneath him is the first thing that Stiles notices when he wakes up. The second is the pain in his legs. He groans and rolls over despite the agonizing pull of the wrap on his legs against the cuts. He remembers the car and the restaurant, running and being driven home and the blood and-

Derek. 

Stiles flounders about in his blankets before his eyes land on the chair at his desk where the wolf is sitting.  He inhales sharply and those green eyes snap up to his with unconcealed emotions. 

Anger and sadness, Stiles isn’t unfamiliar with those but they’re usually coming from his dad. Derek fluidly stands up and rolls the chair back to it’s place before he starts walking over to his bed. 

Stiles can’t deal with this. Nope, not one bit. He had thought it was just a cruel nightmare until he opened his eyes and realized that it is in fact very real. Derek just stands there inches away from his bed seeming much calmer than he has in the past two days, which is odd considering the circumstances. 

“Does it hurt?” What? 

“Um…?”

Derek shakes his head and runs his hand roughly through his hair with a sigh as he sits on the corner of Stiles’ bed. “Does your leg hurt.” Stiles thinks a minute to think, but what’s he supposed to say? Of course it hurts and for two very different reasons. Derek closes his eyes for a moment and the tension just went through the roof. 

“Not your knee, do your thighs hurt?”

Shit, he wasn’t going to leave this. Stiles’ eyes roam everywhere in his room except for Derek. And yeah, they’re burning like hell and for the first time the sting isn’t leaving any peace, just confusion and embarrassment. “Stiles” Derek moved so he was in his line of sight and shifted closer to the head of his bed, his leg bumping against Stiles’ calves. 

“Y-yeah, they hurt.” Derek moves up closer to Stiles and reaches his arm out so that it’s touching Stiles’s wrist. Moments later black veins appear, showing that Derek’s leeching his pain and suddenly Stiles doesn’t feel that dull throbbing pain interlaced with intermediate sharp flares that sting like a bitch. “Der-Derek?” He doesn’t get an answer, Derek just continues to accept the black flow into his body with a stone expression. 

“Stiles” the teen looks at Derek with wide and vulnerable eyes showing his pain and confusion, “yea?” he asks. 

“.....does it still hurt?”

After a minute of silence Derek knows that he isn’t going to get an answer. There’s too much to be said and no words to do it. Eventually Derek gets up and walks into the bathroom where Stiles’ greatest secret was revealed less than two hours ago. He turns the water on in the bathtub and walks back out. “Where’s the bleach and cleaners?”

Stiles is confused for a second before he realizes the mess that must still be in there. “I’ll do it Derek. Don’t bother.” The older man looks at him quizzically before opening his bedroom door walking downstairs. 

“Derek? Where are you going?!” Stiles’ voice is laced with a lot more care and fear than he would ever admit, but Derek couldn’t leave. He  _ couldn’t.  _ “Derek?”

“It’s okay Stiles, I’m just going to go get the cleaners.” The ridiculously simple sentence instantly calms him. “Kitchen or laundry room?” 

“Kitchen.” He says at a normal voice level, knowing Derek can hear him perfectly fine. He could probably even hear his heartbeat if he wanted, it was going like crazy at the moment. Stiles looks around and tries to understand what’s happening because the reality isn’t looking too good. He tosses the blankets off of his body and and shuffles out of his pyjama pants and looks at his legs, seeing them covered in perfectly wrapped bandages and vaguely remembers sitting on the toilet while Derek carefully wrapped the cuts with gentle touches and whispered words of comfort. They don’t hurt at the moment but they will soon enough. 

Blood has soaked through a few points on the bandages, leaving angry red spots on his sheets. He reminds himself that he’s going to have to do the laundry before his dad gets home. They must have been deeper than he thought because he can see the gauze under the ace wraps and it’s soaked through all of the layers. He roughly presses his fingers down where he knows the cuts are and hisses at the sharp pain that erupts. He deserves it, he’s messed it all up and he deserves to be punished his mind helpfully supplies.

Stiles can hear Derek coming back up the stairs so he pulls the sheets up to his waist and tries to pull his pants back on with no success. 

Derek walks in and gives him a look, the type that puts Stiles on high alert and makes him nervous. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks. 

“Why are you so defensive?” Is the response as Derek moves into the bathroom and turns the fan on. The quip leaves him speechless and tongue tied for a moment. 

“Because you’ve got to protect what you’ve got.” 

That earns him a thoughtful glare as Derek looks at him over his shoulder, eyes silently storming. Stiles watches as he kneels down on the tiled floor and reaches towards the tub and pours straight bleach into it. After waiting for a second he starts to scrub and turns the faucet on for a moment to wash it all away, just to do it again. He follows every movement Derek makes with tired and bloodshot eyes. Pour, scrub, rinse, repeat. The pattern slowly cleans the tub and after several minutes Derek stands up and gathers all of the towels in his arms and the ones by Stiles’ bed before going downstairs. Moments later he hears the washing machine start and silently thanks Derek for being awesome enough to do that for him. But he doesn’t come back up. 

Just wait, he’ll be back, he’s just doing something. 

_ He isn’t coming back _

Just wait

Minutes tick by, it feels like hours and Stiles just sits there frozen on his bed. Derek hasn’t come back. He hasn’t come back and if it weren’t for the clock keeping the time on his nightstand he would think it’s been fifty minutes instead of seven.  

_ He isn’t coming back _

Seven minutes turns into eight and Stiles swings his legs over the edge of his bed and barely recognizes the sharp familiar burn as he slides on his slippers and grabs his lacrosse sweatshirt. He makes it not even a half frozen steps before hopelessness takes him over. He stands still and looks at the wall across from his door and can see scuffs, dents, and a different color paint from when he decided coloring the walls with sharpie was a good idea, he was like three.

Those small memories from a happier time, a different Stiles. What happened to the energetic little boy who believed in living dinosaurs and that turtles had tiny homes in their shells? 

_ His mother died. _

Stiles stands there stock still listening for, anything, but doesn’t hear any noise other than his quick breathing. Then he turns around and kicks his slippers off and throws his bathrobe across the floor. His pajama pants are carelessly ripped from his legs as his shaking fingers unwind the ace bandages, feeling them loosen and fall from his legs, the bleeding starting one again as he lays back onto his bed, unfeeling. 

It’s almost like he stops existing for some time, the only reminder that he is indeed alive are the breaths that he takes and the tears silently running down his cheeks. The pain is too much and he doesn’t think, hear, or see. Stiles simply  _ is.  _ There aren’t any real ways to explain what happens, but it’s as close to disappearing as he gets, he’s almost nothing for a little while and he can run from the pain. He shuts down. 

Soon enough he falls asleep again in his sheets. 

He wakes up again with a scream, the nightmares have been getting worse and he’s only been asleep for twenty five minutes. And he’s still alone. 

Suddenly someone’s taking the stairs two at a time running towards his room. Stiles panics pulling his pants up over his legs and boxers and grabbing the sheets to tug them up to his chest. “Stiles! What happened? Are you okay?” The words tumble out of his mouth but Stiles isn’t paying attention because Derek is here. Why is Derek here? When did he come back? Did he even leave?

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Derek is there right next to his bed and quickly wraps his gigantic hands around his own frail wrists and without asking takes his pain. “Don’t do that” Stiles mutters.

“What? Stiles are you okay? You screamed…” Derek looks around before rolling the chair over to his bed side.  

The concern that Stiles sees in his eyes takes him by surprise. When he wakes up his dad he sees pity and sadness in his eyes. But this is true and raw concern, more emotion than Stiles is used to seeing in those perfect eyes. “Umm, yeah, just a thing. I’m okay.” Derek keeps looking at him with those eyes so Stiles throws in a small smile, “really, it’ll be okay”. His composure breaks and his smile falls off of his uncertain lips, he’s not okay and Derek can hear his heartbeat so he knows that he is lying through his teeth. 

“I’ll be okay” he says trying to convince himself and the werewolf two feet away from him. 

Derek gave him another look and he discreetly smelled the air, this one edging on the side of confusion and hurt as he slowly pulled the sheet away from him. “You took the bandages off?” Oh, oh. 

“Um, yeah it just, I yeah...um, yeah”

“Wrap them up again, I’ll be back in just a minute.” Derek gathered the wraps up and places them on the bed again, now avoiding eye contact as he touches the cut skin and moves out of the room. Stiles feels Derek’s fingers dance over his broken skin and even when he’s gone Stiles swears that the warmth is still there. He takes a minute to wonder what he’s doing and before he picks up the stained bandages and begins wrapping his fat legs methodically. He’s just finished when he hears footsteps one again and knows that Derek is coming back. 

I knew he’d come back. 

_ But he’ll leave, they always leave. _

What he didn’t expect was the bowl of soup he’d be carrying with a tray table. Stiles is taken back for a moment before his stomach growls, long and painful. 

“I heard that, you’re hungry.” Shit. 

“Yeah, thanks” Derek sets up the table and puts the orange bowl down and Stiles scoots closer to the edge of the bed so he can reach it. Chicken noodle soup. It’s been a long time since he’s had it, years even. He doesn’t even realize that he’s staring until Derek breaks the silence. “Do you not like chicken noodle?”

“What? Yeah, no I’m okay with it. Totally okay with soup.” 

_ It comes up nice and easy _

“My mo-” Derek starts to talk before he cuts himself off and then he curls his fingers tightly for a moment. Stiles doesn’t need a psychic to figure out what he was going to say  _ his mom used to make him soup _ . 

“My mom used to bake muffins. You know, if she was having a bad day or I got a good test grade. She actually made them for pretty much everything.” Stiles was so tired that he didn’t even notice that he had started bring small spoonfuls of the soup to his mouth. When he notices that Derek is following his hand, he remembers what’s happening and suddenly the spoon feels infinitely heavier than it was moments before. He looks up and Derek meets his gaze with scrunched eyebrows, it looks like he’s trying to hold himself back. 

_ From walking away. He wants to go home and forget about you, he wants to get away from you and your problems.  _

But Derek looks disappointed so he keeps eating, spoonful after spoonful of broth and meat and noodles, calories after calories making their way down his throat. 

_ You haven’t exercised today, you can’t eat this much!  _

I’ll do extra later…

_ What about you dad?!?! He can’t know! What if Derek tells him? What time is it? When is he getting home!? _

Stiles gently puts his spoon back on the tray table and puts his hands in his lap, gently pushing against his cuts as Derek’s eyes shoot up to his own. “Stiles? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I’m just really tired” he says quietly. He pushes the table away from his bed and sits back on his black sheets and pulls his legs in closer to his body, feeling the clotted cuts pull open again, the relief desperately needed. He looks at the soup like it’s the worst thing that he’s ever seen and takes a deep breath.    
“I’m okay.” Stiles says trying to convince himself more than Derek. “What time is it?” The sun’s lower than he expected so it must be later than he thought. “It’s five o’clock.” is the response. His dad is supposed to be back by five thirty. Crap. His legs bump the tray table and some soup sloshes over the bowl as he hurries to stand up. 

Derek looks at him, startled by his bout of sudden movement. “You need to go”

“Stiles you are not in a position to be asking to be left alone, you were bleeding out in your bathtub less than three hours ago!” Stiles doesn’t look over at Derek as he hurries around his room gathering clothes and cleaning up. 

“I guess it’s good that I’m not asking then isn’t it?” The teen quips as he sits on the edge of his bed and pulls on a pair of new socks. Derek stands up and Stiles brushes past him, takes the bowl and puts it on his desk and folds the tray. 

“Stiles-”

“No! You don’t understand, he can’t know you’ve been here! You need to go Derek. ” Stiles thinks about trying to push the man out of his room but quickly realizes his attempts would be futiles so he resumes his cleaning. Derek hears him as he takes the bowl downstairs and puts the table back. The wolf moves downstairs and rounds the corner, coming face to face with a wide-eyed and very nervous boy. “He will literally put a wolfsbane bullet through your brain. And yes, I gave him some.” 

Stiles knows that he’s exaggerating and his dad would probably be happy to have someone spend time with his son. And he knows that Derek knows that too but for some reason he’s cooperating and Stiles couldn’t be more relieved. 

_ It’s because he doesn’t want to be here in the first place _

When he turns around again to ask Derek to please leave already he’s met with an empty room and a cold chill from where the door isn’t shut all of the way. The pain that sparks in his chest hurts more than he’ll admit but it stings because there was a sliver of hope that Derek would insist on staying. He should have known better, he’s not worth the effort or time. His heart is sore from being alone again. 

Stiles rushes into the bathroom with a glass and an old ratty towel.  He puts down the towel on the edge of the tub and fills up his glass with water and drinks glass after glass, so that the food comes up easier, even if it only is soup. Then he kneels over the bowl and sticks his fingers down his throat and does it multiple times before his stomach empties itself. 

The bile splashes with the water, and several droplets splash onto his face. Disgusting. He drinks more water until his stomach hurts and does it all over again, his stomach heaving until the puke runs clear, all traces of his small meal flushing down the toilet. 

Stiles stands up on weak and wobble knees and leans heavily on the sink as he brushes him teeth and uses the mouthwash erasing all traces of his last half of an hour. He’s tired but there’s more than needs to be done. 

First the rest of the soup, it’s too tempting to have in the house because  _ damn _ Derek makes a good chicken noodle soup so it has to go. Stiles walks to the kitchen and takes the large pot and drains the broth in the sink, watching the liquid flow down the drain. Then he brings the pot into the bathroom and flushes the remaining ingredients down the toilet. He couldn’t leave it in the garbage, his dad might notice and there would be questions that he’s not willing to answer. 

Hah, he’s been reduced to flushing soup down the toilet, ‘what a life’ he thinks to himself. Then Stiles grabs the towels that are almost done washing and throws them into the dryer on ‘quick dry’.  He’s left in silence. 

The half of an hour passes slowly before he gets a text from his dad, 

_ Be home late bud, the storm’s nasty and we need extra hands at the station. Stay inside, no driving tonight. There’s new batteries in the kitchen drawer. Be safe, love you.  _

There’s a small sigh as he relaxes into his dad’s chair and curls up with a blanket and turns the tv on watching American Dad to just have some background noise to get rid of the voices. It doesn’t work though. 

Out of the blue ten minutes later he breaks down and cries his sorrow and pain for the first time in a long time. All of his hurt and terror and embarrassment. He’s scared and alone once again and he’s tired of it. He wants Lydia to tell him everything will be okay and Scott to play video games with. He wants to go bowling with Boyd, Erica and Isaac and just forget that he’s not normal for a little while. And he wants Derek to hold him and make him feel like he’s not damaged goods. 

But that won’t happen because he is broken. He’s shattered into a million tiny pieces that will never be put back together again. 

He wants his mom. He wants Martha and Bob to be alive and come over for dinner again and he wants to be loved. Something he hasn’t felt in a while. He wants that and he knows that he’ll never have it. He breaks some more as he falls apart at his stitched seams. Eventually he cries himself to sleep in the chair, cold and alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, good, bad, and anything in between!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia comes and talks to Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to start adding chapter warnings because this one has some intense self-harm at the end and don't want people going in blind. So yeah, beware, Stiles hates himself, what else is new? Lydia.

When he wakes up again he’s freezing so Stiles wraps the blanket around himself tighter and bundles up turning the tv on again as he checks his phone. No messages. 

It shouldn’t hurt that much but it does. His friends don’t text him anymore, he’s too fat. 

I wouldn’t want to be seen with myself either. 

Stiles grabs the now dry laundry from the dryer and heads upstairs humming to himself as he goes, his bones aching and feeling dizzy. His throat still sore from purging earlier, but it’s okay, he deserves the pain, it’s what fatasses like him deserve. He opens the door to his room and the lights flash. He thinks of the distinct possibility that the power will go out, between the wind and the trees that are bound to be falling, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised. 

He drops the laundry basket on his floor and turns on his laptop. 4 videos will be okay for what's happened today, everything considered. He pulls up the videos and goes to it, no breaks between, he doesn’t get rests, fat fags like himself can’t afford breaks, they need to get the fat off of them. So three hours later Stiles is more exhausted than he can deal with so he just gets ready to sleep. 

He goes into his bathroom and flushes his pills and looks around, remembering the past twelve hours. 

Today has been fucking crazy. He looks at the bathtub and he swears he can still see the red streaks and smell the metallic tang of blood in the air despite all of the bleach Derek poured into it. For once Stiles is so tired he passes up the urge to cut into his skin again. 

As he lays in bed he can remember the gentle touches Derek gave while bandaging his skin up. His hands were burning against his own cold skin and when Derek put himself in pain to take Stiles’ own, what was there to say? 

The hurt in Derek’s eyes when he knew Stiles had taken off the bandages again made Stiles feel bad, guilty, and even embarrassed. But the way Derek touched him wasn’t helping Stiles trying to get over the man. Instead it was doing the opposite. Stiles brushes his teeth and gets into his pyjamas and wraps himself in his bathrobe for extra warmth and gets under his sheets. He ignores his slightly content feeling as he lays there thinking about about everything. Soon he falls asleep to the sound of the wind whipping around the house,  rain pelting on his window and the occasional bolt of lightning brightening  his room. 

But sleep never stays anymore and within three hours he’s kicking and screaming himself awake again. Stiles turns his light on and plays his music loudly as he thanks heavens that they have tomorrow off from school. Monday plus the weekend’s events would be terrible to say the least. 

Eventually he manages to fall asleep again and only wakes up one more time before dawn breaks. 

When he does wake up he finds himself laying on his stomach and as he rolls over, the fabric of his pants tears away from his skin, starting the bleeding again. Perfect. Second thing he notices it that he’s sporting a milidly interested hard on. Not part induced by his one nice dream in over two weeks, featuring Mr. Broody Wolf himself.

He leans back in bed and simply tries to remember the pleasure he dreamed about. Derek had taken care of him, held him until he stopped shaking and laid him down on his bed, back flat against his sheets. In his dream Derek had touched his face and traced the bags under his eyes before moving his hands down his stomach, resting on his hipbones. Derek had leaned forward until his body was draped over Stiles’ and simply wrapped him up, warm and comfortable. 

For once he had dreamed that the coldness he felt every night was replaced with warmth. Pure warmth.

Then it got better. Derek was kissing Stiles like he was fragile, breakable until Stiles rolled them over so he was sitting on Derek’s pelvis and he lunged forward and brought their lips together for a more passionate and needy kiss. Derek had growled and flipped them over again so Stiles was underneath them, holding his hands on the sides of his head, their fingers interlaced. 

Derek kissed him like it was the end of the world and it was freaking fantastic. Stiles whined high and desperate and Derek had rocked his hips down, brushing their hard lengths against one another, separated by thin layers of fabric that could easily be gotten rid of. He did it again and hissed at the friction as Stiles keened and rolled his hips bringing them closer together. 

They moved their bodies in sync, chasing their own release and it was as soon as Derek moved his lips to Stiles’ ear and whispered, “Mine” that he woke up. 

So here he is laying on his bed with a now rock hard erection thinking about a wet dream that he hasn’t had in months. About a man who doesn’t like him in any form of a special way. As far as Stiles knows Derek doesn’t do relationships after Paige. And yeah he knows about that since Peter had told them and Derek had made it very clear not to talk about her ever again.

So yeah, Derek doesn’t do relationships. 

Stiles rolls out of bed and notices that the rain has finally stopped and that his dad’s cruiser is in the driveway. He pulls off his bathrobe and moves into his bathroom, shedding his clothes behind his closed and locked door. 

He hops in the shower and remembers his dream, it only takes a minute until he feels better and the evidence is being washed down the drain. 

Stiles takes the soap and carefully runs the bar over his torn skin, the white filling in the gouges and showing all of his cuts. It stings but he knows better than to not clean them. He cannot afford an infection because that would involve doctors and medicine and probably a very awful discussion followed by a long trip to Eichen House. So yeah, cleaning the cuts. He scrubs and washes his hair and the rest of his body and stands for another minute in the shower soaking up the heat from the water. 

Then he steps out and finishes bandaging his legs. The antibacterial ointment followed by new butterfly bandages. Then come the damp gauze pads finally wrapped in two ace bandages per leg. He pops his ibuprofen and comes out of his bathroom and gets dressed. Plain black shirt with slightly loose jeans.  

Stiles trudges down the stairs after he grabs his lacrosse sweatshirt and come into the kitchen to see his dad in front of the tv with a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee, probably with lots of creamer and sugar because Stiles swears he’s trying to have another heart attack. 

“Morning dad” John turns his head and meets his son’s eyes and sees the normal sadness. 

“Morning bud’, how was last night?” Stiles walks into the kitchen and makes a bowl of oatmeal and puts it in the microwave. “Not too bad, the power stayed on and I did some homework before Scott and I decided to kick some virtual butts. The normal.” 

_ Lies Lies Lies _

“How was your night?” Stiles grabs an apple from the counter and takes the milk from the fridge. He slices the apple and grabs his now done oatmeal and pours the milk in. 

“Hectic. We had a lot of calls about accidents coming into the station, I got in around three.”

Stiles turns his body so that his dad can watch him pour maple syrup into his bowl. He hates tricking and deceiving his dad but the numbers need to go down some more. So what if he’s already lost more than 20 pounds since he started? There’s always more that can go. 

“So not too bad?” 

“Yeah except for the call I just got half an hour ago. A house down on Brooks Rd., the house that Lydia found, has some substantial damage that’s been done to it.” His dad looked at him as he tries to make an escape upstairs with his breakfast. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

“Sor-Sorry dad. Yeah, no, I was with Scott.” Stiles tries to walk out of the kitchen but his dad’s glare freezes him mid-step. 

“That’s really funny because there were claw marks on the walls, table in pieces, and here’s the kicker. The door wasn’t damaged in the least. So it wasn’t an animal and the only thing I know that’s capable of doing those activities would be a werewolf, which under normal circumstances I wouldn’t believe but as it is I personally know my son's best friend is one, along with a whole pack, so excuse me for being a little skeptical.” His dad continues to stare and Stiles visibly deflates the longer he stands there. 

“I’m really sorry.” He shuffles his feet as he shifts his weight back and forth from foot to foot. 

“Stiles, I just can’t keep having things happening to my cases. There’s been word of an investigation of the station’s efficiency, my work included. Just don’t keep messing around Stiles. Please, I can’t have any more messes. Tell Scott to keep his furry ass out of my crime scenes.” His dad added the last part with a small smile. Suddenly Stiles could see the months of stress and sleepless nights in his father’s eyes. 

And he had put it there. 

_ Fuck up. You fucking mess everything up. Your father puts up with you and this is what you do for him? Make him tired and stressed? Worried and potentially losing his job? Nice job prick. _

The silence started to hold for an uncomfortable length and after another moment the sheriff turned his body back to the tv screen, watching his game. Which was good because it meant that he didn’t see Stiles’ tears start to slide down his cheeks and land in his bowl of oatmeal. 

Stiles turns his body slowly and walks up the stairs to his room. The bowl feels exponentially heavier than it did before. 

_ You don’t eat. You don’t deserve the food you fuck up. You break everything you touch. You should just end it, take the rope in your closet and go to the tree you and Scott used to play on in the woods and just finally end it. You just make everything worse.  _

And he did for a moment. He thought about suicide and looked past the tree line, imagining where the tree stands and how peaceful it would be. Silence and nothingness. Nothing to break anymore, nobody to hurt again, nothing to feel. 

He’s startled by the noise of the garbage truck on the street below and snaps out of his thoughts. His oatmeal has gone cold, he wasn’t going to eat it anyways. Into the bathroom and down the toilet goes the brown, sugar-coated, oat based mush. Then he takes a bite of his apple and chews for ten seconds before spitting it out and tossing the rest out of his window. He’d make some small animal happy. 

He hops into his bed again and chases the fleeting warmth before his body gets cold again. He’s always cold these days but he’ll take it because it means that his fat is gone. 

Stiles lays there as he waits for his electric blanket to warm him up and stares at his ceiling. Trying not to think. Thinking hurts too much now. 

Stiles hops out of his bed and knocks his shin against his bedframe. “Damn it!” That’s going to bruise. He shuffles into the bathroom and opens his drawer where he keeps his medicines and pops two sleeping pills, because fuck he’s so frickin’ tired. 

He gets back under his sheets. As soon as he closes his eyes he falls asleep, more comfortable now that his dad is home, but he thankfully doesn’t dream. Just some nice interrupted sleep. 

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

He wakes up around two and doesn’t notice anything different as he slides out from his blankets and puts on his slippers. Then he catches a glimpse of red hair sitting in his desk chair and using his laptop. 

“Nice that you’re finally up. It’s been hours Stiles. How many did you take? Three?” Of course Lydia was here.

“Two actually.” he responds defensively sitting back on his bed. 

“You shouldn’t make a habit of that, they can be bad for your liver.” Stiles just stares at the girl he loved for his whole childhood and most of his high school career. 

“I don’t take a lot, just need to sleep someti-”

“I would believe you if you haven’t been creating quite the ledger of lies you now have.” She quips right back at him, stunning Stiles into silence. After a gaze into her eyes he snaps back to himself and instantly puts his walls back up again. 

“Why are you here and how did you get in?” Stiles mumbles to her. 

“Your dad let me in and you know why I’m here…” She spins around in his chair and starts tapping her foot on the legs of his desk as she waits for him to talk. 

“Lydia I’m dealing with it it’ll be fine just-” Stiles rambles because he does know why Lydia is here and he doesn’t like the current situation. Trapped in his room with his angry, smart, and consistently clever ex-lover. 

“No you’re not. You’re still not eating, you’ve clearly lost another five pounds at least, and the soup Derek made you is not in your fridge anymore so you got rid of it. So tell me again you’re okay.”Stiles just stares at her, jaw slightly agape as he flourishes under Lydia’s words. 

_ You’ve clearly lost another five pounds at least.  _

He must have dazed out because then Lydia’s fingers are snapping in front of his eyes. “Stiles?”

“Um, yeah, yeah. I’m okay” He mumbled not paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. Lydia looked startled for a second and then she got angry, her eyebrows furrowing as she moved her arm. 

Then Stiles felt a burning pain on his cheek and he realized Lydia had slapped him. She looks sad and ten years older than she should in that moment. “You are not okay Stiles Stilinski!” 

Stiles just sat there in awe as he felt a warm trickle on his cheek. He raises his hand and touches his fingertips to where it hurts and he’s startled when they come back smudged in red. 

_ Even Lydia hates you now _

“Stiles I’m sor-” She takes a step back and he can see her ring on her hand, golden with an aquamarine stone embedded, her favorite his brain recalls. 

“I deserved it, it’s okay.” That shuts her up and she looks at him with her head tilted to the side like she does when she’s confused and thinking. 

“Is that why you hurt yourself? Do you think you  _ deserve _ it?” How does she know? Stiles’ mind just went from zero to one hundred in exactly two sentences. How. Does. She. Know.

“You can’t hide anything from me Stiles.” Lydia answers to the questions and panic that must be showing in his eyes. “You’ve never been able to.”

“Just because I broke up with you doesn’t mean I don’t care.” His eyes are welling with tears, threatening to spill over. 

_ Lying. She doesn’t give a flying fuck what happens to you.  _

I know. 

“Stiles….”

The tears break the dam and suddenly he’s crying and he can feel the painful tension start to build in his chest. His hands and neck instantly clammy and his lungs can’t get enough air. Panic attacks are always impeccable in their timing. Lydia glances at him and her face goes white. 

“Breathe Stiles. Just breathe, deep breaths.” She reaches over to grab his hand and Stiles reacts. 

Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s scrambled across his bed and pushed himself against his headboard, balancing on the edge of his mattress as he tries to get away from her outstretched hand. His pajama pants are pulled slightly off of his fatty hips and the red cuts hit the cold air and it gives him a moment of clarity. 

Stiles tears his eyes from her hand and wildly catches her gaze. Pain is what he’s met with. 

_ That’s all you do. You hurt people. Your mom, dad, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Allison, Lydia, Martha, Bob, Derek.  _

When he catches movement from his glazed over vision he can tell that Lydia is coming towards him, standing now. He falls off his bed as he tries to get further away from the redhead with knowing eyes. Lydia looks hurt at his movement but she’s standing still now. 

Thank god. He stays like that, his knees aching from his fall onto the floor and neck straining as it clenches up, breathing still ragged. It lasts longer than normal this time and just when he thinks it’s over, it comes back worse than before. 

The necklace. The image of the necklace that he got his mom with the money he earned from his chores when he was seven and she was getting worse every day. His mind painfully replays what he saw in the Brooks rd. house. It was covered in blood. His mom had been so confused he remembers, she didn’t know who he was sometimes when he visited her in the hospital. 

But when she did remember her whole face lit up and they cuddled on her hospital bed watching cartoons on Saturday mornings. He won’t ever forget what the necklace looked like sitting on her frail collarbones and landing on her chest. It was beautiful, just like his mom. 

But his mom is gone and so is the necklace and all that’s left is a broken shell of what Stiles used to be. That beautiful diamond necklace was given to Martha because she was a second mother to Stiles for months after Claudia’s death. And now she was dead too. 

_ You hurt people. You kill the people you love.  _

The pain in his stomach is violently relieved as he leans over and vomits on his floor. His throat is still sore from purging the soup. 

Slowly the red he sees on the gold chain and diamond is replaced with red hair on Lydia. Even slower he begins to  relax. His neck is so sore from the muscle tension. 

Lydia carefully leans over with a towel and after giving him a moment to back away if he wanted, she wipes his face and hands him a glass of water. He doesn’t know when she got those. 

They don’t speak as he stands up and puts the towel over the mess on the floor. Stiles drinks the water and sets the glass on his nightstand while reevaluating the situation. He feels tired like he always does after having  panic attack but Lydia is still there looking at him with unbearable pity shining in her eyes. 

“You can’t keep doing this Stiles. You’re killing yourself.” She whispers into the quiet room. 

A small smirk abnormally plants itself on his face as he imagines dying. Killing himself. It wouldn’t be bad. He wouldn’t be a problem for anyone anymore. And if he doesn’t want to be here anyways, what’s really stopping him?

“We care about you. All of us.”

_ Lies. You hurt dad. Scott doesn’t want to hang out. Lydia broke up with you. Erica hates you. Isaac doesn’t talk to you. Martha and Bob are dead. Derek left you. Nobody cares about you. Nobody.  _

“Derek especially.”

“Don’t lie to my Lydia, not today.” He’s moved back under his covers and Lydia is now sitting next to him on his bed, they’re both facing his wall that has the red strings mapping the supernatural connections. 

“I’m not lying. He cares about you a lot. Haven’t you noticed?” Her perfect eyebrows curve and her eyes show pure emotion. Lydia sighs and runs a hand over her face. “He cares more than he shows.”  

Stiles just thinks. Derek did stay with him even when he was sure the werewolf was going to leave. And made him soup, and cleaned him up. 

_ He doesn’t care. Even if he did he still wouldn’t be attracted to you. Who wants to have a fatass boyfriend? Nobody.  _

_ We’ll do another video tonight.  _

“If you didn’t want me why does Derek care?” He whispers into the still air. 

“Stiles. Is that what you think? That I don’t like you?” 

Stiles doesn’t talk, biting his cheek instead to keep his emotions in control. That’s enough of an answer. He feels Lydia’s light fingers dancing over the skin on his cheek, over the cut she left there. “I’ve always liked you. But we can’t work out like that. I thought we could for a while, but it’s never going to be right Stiles. There’s someone else out there for you.”

His breathing turns ragged and he grabs his pillow and cries. 

There isn’t anyone else. 

There never has been. 

There never will be. 

Her warm body pressed against his back feels like it’s burning into his skin. He cries harder. 

His feet fall asleep from how long they stay like that, at least twenty minutes. Hs sobs fade away and when a tissue is offered to him, he gratefully takes it. 

The floating feeling has gone and now he can tell that his throat is raw and he’s lost his voice. Stiles swings his legs over the side of his bed and revels in the tingling in his feet as the feeling comes back. Like needles. That’s a new thought he files away for later. 

Lydia looks just about as wrecked as he feels. She places a kiss on his forehead and stands up. 

“Open up your eyes Stiles, we all care. Derek does too, more than he lets on.” She slips on her creme flats and grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. 

“Lydia?” She looks back as she makes her way to his bedroom door. 

“Yeah?” 

“How did you know?” A small weary smile pulls the corners up her perfect lips up. 

“Derek called me.”

Just as she turns the corner and starts walking downstairs he can hear her turn around and run back into his room. Then he’s being wrapped in her arms as she gives him an almost violent hug that lasts not long enough. 

 

\---------------------------------

 

Things go back to normal for a while. Stiles goes to school and works himself to exhaustion nearly everyday. Within a week he’s lost another two and a half pounds and the voices are so happy with him. But it’s not enough. And he’s starting to realize that there might never be a good enough number that greets him on the scale at least five times a day. 

He weighs himself before breakfast and after he’s used the bathroom, right after breakfast, right after he gets home from school, before he eats dinner, and again after dinner. Sometimes there are more times, he’s hit twenty three times in one day before, but never any less. 

It’s a week and a half later that his dad sits him down at the dinner table and finally breaks.

“You don’t even care anymore Stiles!” 

It’s a taco dinner where he’s only managed to eat half of a soft shell taco. He’s been counting the calories, he has a limit of 300 today and he’s already at 78. But he wants to eat less, make the voices happy. To be able to not have to purge again tonight until the toilet has drops of red in the water from his cracked throat. He’s just been moving his food around his plate, making it look smaller as he continues to stare at the plate and think of just how horrible he is to his dad. 

_ Don’t fucking cave you fag. Don’t you fucking eat that shit.  _

“I’m sor-” His voice wobbles as he tries not to cry. 

“No you’re not! You keep saying that but nothing changes Stiles! You haven’t eaten lunch since god knows when because I keep getting told that the balance on your lunch plan hasn’t changed.” John takes a deep breath and looks at Stiles’ plate with open hatred. “I check every night in the pathetic hopes that you’ve changed your mind and that you’ll start eating again. But every day it’s still at twenty three dollars and fifteen cents.” His dad starts to cry then. 

“I can’t help it dad” Stiles feels himself cracking at the seams. He’s been pushing everything down and he’s just about ready to explode. He imagines small pieces of his body scattered across the room, he thinks about dying. 

It’s sick how it calms him down so much just thinking about not existing anymore. But it helps and he’s been relying on that little trick a few more times than he would like, but it’s not like anybody cares so it really doesn’t matter. “Stiles, please just eat. Just eat the taco so I can sleep tonight. Please…” 

When his dad cries it hurts him so much, because for some reason his dad still cares and he’s hurting him. The only person who cares about him, and he’s pushing him away. 

Stiles can feel the weight of the calories as he lifts the vile food to his mouth. It takes him forty five minutes to finish it. Twenty three small bites, each bite chewed thirty times. His dad has stopped crying and now they just sit there in uncomfortable silence. 

He picks up the unbearingly empty plates and puts them in the dishwasher. When he looks over his shoulder he sees his father hunched, head in his hands. Stiles thinks about going over and giving him a hug but that would just be too hard. Instead he settles for silently walking to his room. 

“Night dad.” His only response is a small noise that could have been a muffled sob. 

 

Stiles methodically walks around his room and gathers his kit. A blade from here and a towel from where he hid it under his mattress last night. It’s only been eleven days so the cuts from the day with Derek are still healing. 

He pushes down with more force than he normally would and whimpers at the pain, but he deserves it. He’s hurting his dad. 

_ You are a royal fuckup you fatass prick. Fucking worthless.  _

My dad loves me

_ No he doesn’t, he’s just supposed to care because he’s related to you. That’s the only reason.  _

But he cares

_ Not for much longer. How long do you think he’s going to put up with you for? A year, maybe three months? Maybe a week or two.  _

_ People leave you because you’re a terrible person.  _

_ You  _

_ Are _

_ Terrible  _

_ Fatass _

_ Faggot _

_ Whimp _

_ Weak  _

_ Depressed _

_ Freak _

The sting feels so good and then the high rush of the endorphins crashes and he feels even better. There’s a time when you know and you don’t care, and that’s right now. He can see the white skin tissue as he slices before it fills with blood and he presses down again into the same cut, over and over as more blood builds up and spills over. 

When he finally breaks through his skin it’s so weird. He needs stitches, there’s not a doubt in his mind but he’s not going to get them. Instead he’s so mesmerized that he takes tweezers in his jumble of random tools and sticks it into his gaping wound. It’s numb because he’s gone too deep. Stiles also knows that he’s not going to die, not enough blood loss from a cut on his thigh even if it is this deep. 

He quickly presses the tweezers together and lifts them out and places the pile of fat tissue on the towel. That’s what it is, yellowing bubbly disgusting evidence that he’s not perfect. 

Perfect people aren’t like him. So he does it again, and again, and again until he’s accumulated a mound of the traitorous tissue. 

It’s the farthest he’s ever gone in hurting himself but he knows that he’ll do it again. 

Stiles walks on weak legs and wraps the whole towel around his leg and holds it all together with three ace bandages on his thigh. He makes sure that he cleans up enough before putting in his earbuds and cranking his music up as loud as it goes and  passing out, dead asleep to the world and it’s pain.

 

 

The hurt, agony, and pain is just so much sometimes but there are better moments. Like when Scott partners up with him for class projects or Isaac saves him a seat in the library for the study hall that have together. Even better are the pack meetings when he sees Derek relax with his betas and even occasionally smile at him. The warmth that spreads from his chest when those shining green eyes meet his own catches him by surprise each time, it feels fantastic. 

They don’t press although Erica questioned the smell of blood once and Derek immediately looked at him, they didn’t use their claws for practice and everyone else could have healed. The tension was tight for a moment before Isaac made a joke about her menstrual cycle which earned him a hard slap to the back of his head by Boyd. Everything went back to normal after that, and if Derek’s hands lingered over his thigh for longer than necessary nobody mentioned the black veins that appeared on his forearm. 

Even when Stiles had his bad nights and cried himself to sleep, he had this spark in his chest. Just a thought that maybe they cared about him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a two week break and hammered this chapter out in the last three days and couldn't wait to put it up, so there's probably mistakes even though I've read it again and again. Please leave comment so I know what you guys think! They mean a lot to me!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Stiles and Derek. And Stiles may have a minor freak-out on Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this has taken so long but I wanted to get it published before I go on my senior trip. So here it is! Very minor self-harm. With a memory of why Stiles started hurting himself in the first place.

Scott-  Hey pack meeting Friday at the loft. Can you bring soda? Isaac and I are grabbing pizza 

Stiles- Sure man, when 7?

Scott- Yeah, maybe root beer?

Stiles- Can do

 

It’s better than spending another night alone with his thoughts. The promise of a pack meeting, of spending time with his friends kept him going through the week. He did his homework and was down two and a half pounds now. 

But there’s something missing in the way he smiles and the way he walks and talks to his friends. And nobody seems to notice,which makes it hurt that much more. Wednesday comes by and he misses the deadline for his AP history paper. Stiles knows that it’s a big part of his grade but he doesn’t find it within him to care, he’s so tired all the time now. 

Logically he knows what’s happening, his body’s trying to get through the days and he’s not eating enough to be able to. It doesn’t stop him, if anything it makes him a sort of proud.

Lunch is the worst, and the best at the same time. Stiles skips and instead goes to the locker room and changes into his running clothes. He has double lunch so he’s got over an hour between the two periods, plenty of time to run some laps. 

Off come the too tight jeans and the sweatshirt and shirts. Being careful of his wounded legs he slips into his running pants and his t-shirt. Ties up his sneakers and drinks a third of a bottle of gatorade. No more passing out. Scott and his dad would flip. 

Stiles walks out of the gym doors and heads out onto the path where the cross country team runs. He started running a ten minute mile and pushed himself faster and harder. Now he’s down to just under 7. 

The cold stings his fragile skin and he takes off, he wants to do three laps, four miles in total before he goes back to class. 

The miles melt under his feet as he takes off and feels the cold in his face. The fresh air momentarily wakes him up from his usual haze of tiredness. Stiles runs out all of his frustrations at himself and the world, one of his healthier ways of coping. Kind of healthy he tells himself, justifying the destructive behaviors. . 

_ Better than killing yourself  _

Two laps down and he’s breathing rather hard, but damn it he is  _ not _ walking. His cheeks are getting warm and there’s a trace of sweat on his forehead from his exertion. 

He gets the unnerving feeling that there’s something watching him, and not in the cute little bunny way. He looks over his shoulder as he runs just checking and although he doesn’t see anything, he can’t shake the thought that he’s not alone.

After twenty five minutes he slows down to a normal run and finishes his run and comes back in through the back gym door he props open whenever he goes out. Stiles walks quickly through the halls, wanting to go unnoticed as he slips into the locker room. He towels off and slips his jeans and long sleeve shirt on. 

What he didn’t see was the pair of unnatural eyes that stayed in the trees watching him as he ran. 

\------------------------

He walks back to his next class when he hears the first bell ring and avoids Scott’s glare because he knows his friend can smell the sweat and knows what Stiles’ been doing. 

Stiles opens his backpack and pulls out his homework, getting ready for the double periods of science. He makes it through the rest of the day before he has to have a real social interaction in the locker room. 

Isaac, ever the intrusive, comes over to his locker and just stands there as Stiles pulls his practice clothes out. What freaks him out even more is that the beta doesn’t do anything, he just stands there and watches Stiles as he moves. 

When Stiles tries to walk around Isaac to go to the bathroom to change he’s blocked. 

“What are you doing?” The blonde asks eyes raking up and down Stiles’ bony form. Too weak and tiny to be playing a sport, too fragile. 

Stiles tries really hard to act normal, “I have to pee Isaac, shove off.” he tries to push past his friend but is met with unmovable arms blocking his way. Isaac raises his eyebrows and shifts so his body is cornering Stiles next to his locker and the wall. “What, do I need the magic password?”

He’s met with silence. “Seriously? Move.”

“Okay  _ please _ move.” 

Nothing

“Lahey, move your nasty, furry ass before I break off an extra large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane, roll it in mistletoe, and shove it up your freaking-”

“lahey, Stilinski, get your girly fight over and get out on the field or you’re getting ten extra laps!” When neither of them moved Coach Finstock shouted again, “Fifteen and an extra hour in the weight room tomorrow morning if you aren’t on the field in one minute!” Isaac pushed himself off of the lockers and blatantly scents the human before he jogs out of the doors and onto the field. 

Stiles sighs in relief now that the beta is gone, he’d take extra running and weight training any day over Isaac sticking around. He knows that he’s going to be late getting onto the field but can’t find it in himself to care that much.  Without anyone in the locker room he just goes and changes his clothes quickly. Then he goes into the bathroom and splashes some water on his face. 

He grabs his helmet and stick and just as he’s about ready to head outside when he’s tugged backwards by his jersey. “Wha-”

He turns around and sees Derek there, just inches away with his broody face on. 

“Shit Derek, you can’t just sneak up on people like that! Like seriously, I’m pretty sure that you actually will give me a heart attack someday. I am eighteen years young and I do not want to die because you snuck up on me!” 

He calms down and takes a deep breath, “I have practice, what do you want?” He tries to keep the anger and annoyance out of his voice. 

Derek responds with a calmness that Stiles wasn't expecting.”You shouldn’t be running on your knee, it needs time to heal.” For some reason that Derek doesn’t fully understands he needs to take care of Stiles. It’s this driving urge to make sure the teen is okay. So here he is, standing in the high school  gym where he used to change for his games, lacrosse and basketball watching Stiles get ready to go and practice. 

“Yeah well you should tell that to my coach” he huffs with a small smile, just seeing Derek here talking to him made his day a thousand times brighter. “You really could get in trouble on day for being in here. Imagine the headline,  **Local Man Stalks Teens in Locker Room** , not the best given your track record in the sheriff’s office.” Stiles’ voice washes over him as he takes in the look of the teen. 

Skinnier than he was even just a few days ago and it bothers Derek. 

“Just skip practice.” Derek leans on the lockers and tries to look as inviting as he can, as open and welcome as he wants Stiles to see him. “I’ll take you back to my loft or something.” He’s offering to take Stiles without making a game plan, going on the whim that he feels that Stiles needs a break from it all. 

What surprises him even more is when Stiles shoves his clothes back in his locker and shuts it. “Okay”

Stiles goes to grab his backpack but Derek beats him to it. He asks, “Are you really okay with this?” 

“Yeah, doing laps is totally worth missing getting beat up by Jack-ass” Stiles is so sure that his cheeks must be burning and his pupils blown up, he read somewhere that they get bigger when you’re around someone you like. And having Jackson not tripping him or Scott barely touching him because he’s scared he’s going to fall over and break, is so much better than going to practice. 

Stiles looks over his shoulder and starts walking down the hall before he hears Derek’s throat being cleared. “I parked out back.”

“Totally trying to look like a stalker”

The car ride around town is relaxing and Stiles sticks his arm out of the window and simply enjoys the fresh air. He takes a deep, refreshing breath and thinks that it’s not just the crisp wind on his skin that is making him feel so alive and free. It’s Derek. 

He looks over at Derek and is startled to find piercing green eyes locked with his. Stiles turns away with a small smile and knows that his cheeks are turning bright red. He resumes his relaxation in the steady motion of the camaro as they drive around the back roads on the edge of the Hale territory. After a while Derek drives back into town and pulls into his loft parking lot. The radio goes quiet as the keys are taken out of the ignition and suddenly Stiles is worried.

Why is he here? What was he thinking? What is he doing?

A gentle hand is placed on top of his own where his fingernails had started to dig harshly into the palm of his hand. Immediately the small amount of pain is taken from him and Stiles gets angry although he keeps it to himself. Doesn’t Derek get the idea of why he does it in the first place? He has no right to take it away! To take his relaxant and get rid of it without a replacement!

What he certainly doesn’t expect is those same fingers intertwining with his own as Derek gives a short squeeze, almost to say  _ it’s okay, I’m here.  _

Stiles looks up and the returning eyes are warm, such a nice break from his own harsh eyes in the mirror. The way Derek looks at him makes him giddy like a freaking school girl, but it’s nice thinking even for a millisecond that you’re worth something. 

_ You’re not. You are a literal pile of shit.  _

Stiles’ mood is quickly dampened and he hears Derek give a small almost inaudible whine. Why is Derek holding his hand?

_ It’s a joke. It’s nothing because who would ever want to hold your fatty hand?  _

_ Oh that’s right, nobody.  _

He tries to pull away but there’s more pressure on his fingers and Stiles can’t get out of the grasp. When Stiles starts to panic Derek eventually lets go and gets out of the car. 

_ Now you’ve ruined it. Nice going dumbass.  _

“Are you coming?” The question is fragile, almost as if Derek was scared at ask. 

“Yeah” is the response falling from Stiles’ lips before he even realizes he’s said it, but his answer is thin too, as if he was afraid to answer. 

They walk up to the loft in silence and Derek pulls open the heavy door. The cold air that seems to stay circulating in the cold room chills Stiles right to his bones and he realizes that his sweatshirt is not going to be warm enough. Before he can even voice his concerns Derek is there with another sweatshirt, his own this time and as he leans over to give it to the teen he stops and sniffs Stiles, just on the side of awkward because it lasts so long. 

When Derek pulls away with a pained expression Stiles can only think of Isaac earlier. Does he smell that bad? He washed everything off of his body after last night and made sure to wrap his legs extra tight today to prevent as much bleeding as possible. He can’t smell like that much blood. 

“What?” He asks. Derek looks at him very confused.    
“You smell different. Like chemicals.”

“Well thanks for the compliments there, I’m trying on a new fragrance. I call it formaldehyde #3.” 

Derek doesn’t smile though. 

“Just wash any clothes that you were wearing the night we broke into that house. You smell like you’ve camped out there.”

“I can assure you that I haven’t, but I’ll do that. Wash the clothes I mean” he promises. It’s different without the pack in here, like they usually are when Stiles is here. There’s less life and the big couch looks pathetically empty and the giant beanbags that he and Scott made Derek buy lie in a lump in the corner of the room. The gray walls and low lights seem large without loud sounds in the room. 

There’s a still silence as Derek takes off into the kitchen and Stiles is left there standing alone and cold. But then Derek's there calling him into the room with the big windows. “Come in Stiles. I’ll make hot chocolate.” Stiles walks in, the chill getting even colder and he shivers despite the extra layers. “There’s mugs in the cupboard all the way on the left.” Stiles opens the  door and feels a lump form in his throat. The mugs are huge, easily two or three servings and suddenly he gets extremely nervous. 

He might have been able to coax himself to drink a quarter of the mug of hot chocolate, there was no way he was drinking one of these whole mugs. 

_ One serving of hot chocolate, 150 calories. Three servings 450 calories. Four tablespoons of milk, 30 calories. Whipped cream, 40 calories. Add 70 calories for miscalculations. 590 calories all together. No. Freaking. Way.  _

_ Green tea, 15 calories.  _

Green tea it is. 

Stiles stutters when he asks his question, afraid of rejection. “Can I have tea instead? I don’t like hot chocolate.” Not a total lie, but Stiles knows that Derek can still detect the traitor blip that his heart gives. Hot chocolate was one of the things that he loved growing up, Martha used to use chocolate blocks and cream, it was heaven in a cup. 

He honestly isn’t sure what the worst part of it all is: the fact that Derek knows he’s lying and isn’t saying anything, or the way that he simply answers, “sure” and avoids the topic all together. Stiles gets lost in his head and is startled when Derek comes out of the kitchen to get him. “Water’s ready.”

“Oh, um, yea okay” Stiles follows him into the kitchen and watches as Derek moves around his loft, at home and comfortable. He thinks that it’s nice to see Derek more relaxed than normal. He has too much on his shoulders already. 

_ You’re part of that. You’re a problem, a burden. Just leave, no calories, no damage, no more bothering him. It’s better this way.  _

Derek doesn’t mind, he came to get me

_ Because he pities you, needs to babysit you so you don’t off yourself when nobody’s looking. _

_ Pathetic _

_ Absolutely fucking pathetic.  _

He cares

_ No. He really doesn’t _

His cold mug is taken and returned to him with warm water and a tea bag and the heat feels so wonderful on his hands, finally something to take away some of the cold. “Thanks”

“No problem” Derek says back to him. “Do you want to watch something? There’s baseball or...something.”

Stiles chuckles because Derek looks so handsome all flustered while trying to still Mr. Broody. He has a smirk because it makes him happy to just even be around Derek, it’s like it’s his first time liking someone. But Derek’s different, he is a different type of crush. A ‘totally-out-of-my-league but I think that there’s just the tiniest atom of hope so I’m still going to think about it’ crush. “You have cable and it dies every 20 minutes because Erica threw a fit and tore the cables and you tried to fix it on you own. So no; how about netflix?” 

Derek frowns, “I don’t have netflix, there’s some movies on the bookshelf though.” 

Stiles actually does snort, “You mean Erica’s chick flicks and Boyd’s documentaires? I’ll just give you my account so then you can be introduced to the modern world. Plus there’s my whole queue so we’ll find something to watch.”

Derek nods his head and hands Stiles the remote and watches until the red screen is loading and the titles start popping up. 

Stiles scrolls through almost every genre until he finds Breaking Bad. “You have seen this right?”

“What is it?” 

He mocks a pained expression and gasps, “We need to fix this right now. Do you like drugs?”

He gets a perplexed face and rephrases his question, “Do you like drugs, or science, a good show plot, action, explosions? Whatever, I’m making the executive decision here and we are watching Breaking Bad until I have to go home.” 

One episode turns into two and Stiles is enjoying watching Derek through some of the funnier parts. The face that he makes when he’s interested in something is funny, his eyebrows scrunched together that it looks like he could be angry, but he isn’t frowning. 

Stiles sips his tea and gets another mug. 

_ Good for digestion and metabolism.  _

_ One by one, two by two, the pounds are falling off of you _

“Just wait until they get stranded in the desert, and there’s this one quote where Jesse says, “Yeah Science!” but it really pisses me off because everyone quotes it wrong. It’s like have you even watched the show?” He’s really getting into it and being near Derek, who is just sitting less than two feet away from him on the couch, is making him excited. “But honestly, Science Bitch does sound much better. It has a certain ring to it.”

“Stiles?” Derek says, never taking his eyes off of the screen. 

“Yea?” He’s so happy that he doesn’t detect the underlying tone of annoyance. 

“Shut up!”

_ Oh _

_ There it is _

He immediately pulls away and sits as far away from Derek as he can on the couch. Tears start welling up in his eyes. 

_ God for one second can you not cry?! _

He hates me

_ He always has _

Why am I here?

_ It’s a joke. He hates you _

_ Derek hates you _

He feels a tear slide down his cheek and hasn’t felt this pitiful in a long time. Stiles can hear when Derek pauses the episode and can feel as the cushions shift on the couch as moves closer to him. When an unnaturally warm hand touches his elbow, he curls further into the corner and then the gentle caress is gone. 

“Stiles?” he can feel Derek’s eyes on him and it’s making him even more uncomfortable. “Stiles I didn’t mean it.”

_ He meant it. He hates you _

He took me out to eat

_ Which you don’t deserve you fatass _

He cares- 

_ NO HE DOESN’T _

He tries to take a deep breath overcome with exhaustion and confused about what he should believe. Stiles rotates his wrists so that his right hand fingers can dig into his left forearm. “Stiles-”

He pushes and drags his nails, “Stiles No. Stop!” Derek quickly grabs his arms and holds them in a vice-like grip. Before he can even think about what happened he knows that Derek’s done it again. He may or may not totally flip out. 

“Stop fucking doing that! You have no right to take it away so get your fucking hands off of me!” He shoves Derek away with strength fueled from anger and fear. “I get it, I’m fucked up but it’s not like I do this for shits and giggles, I do it because I deserve it. I fucking deserve it because I fuck everything up! I’m a mess and I need it Derek because there are these voices in my head and nobody likes me, nobody cares! I am so messed up that I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore and I’m tired of it all, I just want it to be over. There’s times when I’m okay and nothing bad’s happened and then I’m sad again for no freaking reason at all. You don’t take away my pain because it’s all that have! It’s the only thing I can control. You can’t take that from me!” He’s on the edge of hysteria when he feels Derek’s hands, this time gently and slowly settle on his shoulders. Stiles hangs his head in shame from his outburst. 

_ Now you really messed up. Congrats _

_ I can’t believe that you really just did that.  _

_ That’s a new low.  _

_ And a sure fire way to get a boyfriend _

His energy is quickly draining and Derek’s sliding his thumbs over the tops of his shoulders and it feels nice. A fake reassurance that someone cares. Quiet words are being spoken to him but he can’t concentrate right now, he’s too tired.

“Stiles. Are you listening? Come’on Stiles.”

Stiles looks up his eyes filled with more tears that he’s holding back, he locks onto the beautiful green eyes and can see the pain in them. 

_ You’re hurting him _

Stiles feels Derek’s hands keep moving and watches as his chest inflates and deflates with the big breath he takes. 

“Is that what you really think? That nobody cares? That I don’t care?” He doesn’t answer, but instead hangs his head again, but Derek’s hand is there, lifting it up, looking him in the eyes again. “We all care Stiles. I care. Especially me.”

_ No he doesn’t _

But he said-

_ No he doesn’t! _

“Put your hand on my heart.” Stiles does as he’s asked and can feel the strong and steady rhythm of his heartbeat.  “I promise you, I’m not lying. I care about you Stiles.” He feels the even beating under his palm but still can’t believe it. 

_ He’s lying! He’s lying to you! _

Derek repeats himself as if sensing his doubt, “I care Stiles. I care and you are one of the best people I know. Just listen for me. I’m not lying. I have always cared.”

Stiles leans into the warm arms that are also pulling Stiles into his lap and soon he’s cuddled in a werewolf blanket. Tears are still leaking down his face but he’s no longer crying. “You don’t have to do this, and especially not alone.” Stiles curls up in the warmth, sheltered from the cold air of the loft and the thoughts inside his head. Derek pulls a blanket over both of them and resumes the episode although neither of them are watching it.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you. It’ll be okay.” They stay like that until the credits roll and even then when Stiles feels awkward and tries to get out of the embrace Derek’s there, holding him tighter and whispering into his hair again. If this is what it feels like to be loved, he could get used to it. 

_ It won’t last. He doesn’t mean it.  _

Almost exactly when Stiles starts to feel bad Derek is there putting Stiles’ hand over his heart and repeating himself, a truth in the confusion. The next episode plays and Stiles mentally wanders, thinking about nothing and everything at once. Their silence remains delicate and it’s only when Derek shifts his head that they are able to look at each other again. “Stiles?”

“Yeah?” His voice is husky from yelling and his cheeks drying from the previous tears. 

“How long have you been hurting yourself?” he asks with a decisive tone that he will be answered but is gentle enough to not scare Stiles away. 

 

The first time had been an experiment. He was only ten. There was a mother son dance and Stiles hadn’t gone even though Martha had offered to take him. It just wasn’t the same. Watching Scott get all dressed and Melissa coming out in a pretty blue dress made him sad. He didn’t have a mother. He had heard rumors about cutting. The crazy sad girls did it for attention. But if it hurt why would they do it for attention? He was confused and his dad was at a car accident. The pain that he felt on the inside was so confusing. 

He was okay, wasn’t he? But then why was he so sad, why did he think about hurting himself like the crazy girls did? It was just an experiment. He was so nervous as he took a blade from a pencil sharpener that he brought home from school and positioned it over his wrist. One quick slice because he was scared to do it slow. It left almost no line in it’s wake, but then slowly as he watched a small thin red line appeared and he let out a sigh. 

It worked, he could do this. It wasn’t crazy. In the morning his dad asked what had happened to his arm. Stiles decided never to use it on his wrists or arms ever again. His dad couldn’t know.

He stopped after a month when Scott started hanging out with him again as they moved into middle school. The next four years were rocks as he went through puberty and there was sadness and happiness and pimples and a scale and Lydia Martin. Things were okay until ninth grade when Stiles convinced Scott to go look for Laura Hale's body. Life quicky got turned upside down and there was too much stress. So he fell back into an old habit, one that had never gotten far but that he hadn’t forgotten. Things quickly got out of control and he thought he was finally okay when Lydia agreed to go out to dinner with him and they were together for a little while. 

But the good things never last. 

 

“Stiles? How long” is the repeated question. 

“A long time” is how he answers. 

The silence extends and Stiles can tell that Derek is trying to choose his next words carefully. “You don’t have to be alone anymore. We’ll get through this.”

“No, you can’t tell the pack!” He gets extremely nervous, they can’t know because then everyone including his dad will know and then they’ll send him away!

“I wasn’t going to tell them. It’s okay, just you and me. I’ll help you get better. I promise.” 

“oh okay.”

He feels a little better, sharing the weight of the world on his shoulder with someone else. With someone who cares. “Can I stretch my legs?” he tries to add a little humor but it falls short. “They fall asleep.” 

“Yeah, we should get up, Isaac just pulled in, he’s coming up.” 

Stiles stands and Derek folds the blanket up. He’s cold again but the warmth still lingers in his bones. It feels like a rushed evening, but it’s been hours since Derek picked him up from school. 

Isaac walks in moments later and looks between his friend and his alpha. After sharing a glare with Stiles he sniffs the air and Stiles feels bad. He knows that Isaac can smell the salty air from his tears as well as the sadness and anxiety. Not to mention his and Derek’s own scents mixed together. Isaac opens his mouth and turns to Stiles as he prepares for a verbal lashing but Derek’s eyes flash a bright red and a loud growl emits from his chest. Immediately Isaac’s eyes shine an answering gold and he tilts his neck in submission. 

Without any prompting Isaac walks right back out of the door, probably going to the roof. 

Derek drives Stiles home and the silence is comfortable, quiet but a shared understanding that no words need to be said for them to both be thinking the same thing. His driveway appears too soon and the Stiles is shrugging out of the sweatshirt before Derek stops him. “It’s okay, keep it with you.” Stiles lights up on the inside at the prospect of having Derek’s sweatshirt that smells just like with him. Derek leaves his car running but gets out when Stiles does too. 

“Thank you, for everything.” he says softly into the night air.  

“You’re welcome.” Derek comes over and grabs Stiles shoulders and then crushes him in a hug that only rivals those from his dad. “Remember, I care.” 

With a small nod and a tiny smile on his lips Stiles goes inside. He takes off his shoes and walks into the kitchen to see his dad. “Hey, I hung out at Derek’s loft, sorry for not giving you a heads up. How was work.”

“The same, a couple of cases here and there that I need to file and organize. Two or three that were out of place which I just assumed you and Scott got into at one point.” Stiles feels guilty until his dad smiles, “I was joking, although I’m feeling like I might want to change the locks on my door.” Stiles opens the fridge and pretends to look for something to eat. He half-mindedly grabs a slice of pizza and a glass of milk that his dad has already poured for him. 

He drinks the milk for his dad’s sanity and feels the liquid fill him up, bloating his stomach. But it’s okay some quiet voice in his head supplies. The pizza goes in a container in the top of his closet hidden by his travel bags and old clothes that he’s supposed to donate. 

_ It’s not okay! _

I know

_ Damn straight _

But maybe it will be. 

As he gets ready to go to bed he finds himself flushing his pills in part of his daily routine. Then he shuts his door and goes for the razor. Things haven’t changed. Twelve cuts for eating today and three for upsetting Isaac. Only four for believing in Derek’s words. 

_ But they might be true _

So only four for Derek. 

Because the hope’s growing a little bit stronger. And even though he can feel the blood drops pooling on his skin. There’s hope. 

When he gets a text from Derek right before he falls asleep, it helps him sleep through the night along with the sweatshirt bungled up next to his face. 

  
“Remember that I care Stiles. You’re not alone anymore. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Your support keeps me writing even if it does take a little while! Comments and Kudos make me happy!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter 15  
> The pack meeting doesn't go as planned which involves the good, the bad, and everything in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the re-written chapter 15.  
> It has the same elements and major points with some other stuff added in.  
> I decided that I wanted Stiles to be happy when *it* happened so I took out the verbs and other words that made him seem angrier and made him more sad and mellow before he got happier rather than defensive and aggressive.  
> So there's that! Please leave a comment so I can know what you guys liked, didn't like, and anything else you have to say! :)

Regular or light?

_ light _

If  I get light they’ll know something's up. 

_ If you get regular you’ll be fatter  _

What if I get both?

_ Better yet, why don’t you say that you forgot and don’t get any? _

The wolves would be able to tell immediately that he was lying if he said that he forgot. 

He’s standing in the middle of the drinks isle of ‘Ray’s Market and Deli’ thinking about how to get out of this. The meeting is less than fifteen minutes from when they normally start and there’s too many options of soda.

Scott asked for root beer and it’s not supposed to be a big deal. To anyone else this would be an easier decision, regular or light. He looks at the colors: brown and dark red, tan and white lettering. $1.89 for a two liter bottle, buy one get one free. 

So it should be even easier, buy one and get the other one too. But what if the guy at the cash register thinks that I’m getting them for myself. 

_ What if he thinks you’re fat. What if he thinks you’re disgusting. He does, you’re revolting. _

Just buy the soda and leave, he won’t care people get soda everyday, it’s okay. Try not freaking out over something every other second. 

_ You’re not going to drink it anyways. Just pretend that you will get a cup and walk to the kitchen pour it out and get water instead nobody will care, they’ve got more important things to do than care about you.  _

Before he can change his mind Stiles grabs two bottles of regular root beer and starts walking to the checkout register. It’s not a big deal, it’s not a big deal he chants to himself as he passes other shoppers and keeps his eyes down, carefully avoiding any chance that he could be associated with sugary soda. 

It’s not a big deal, it’s not a big deal. He hands over the three dollars that he has to his name and two dollars and nine cents later he’s walking out of the store with a bag that has drinks. He starts walking a bit faster than normal and can only take a deep breath when he’s sitting in the old and worn seat. Five minutes until the meeting starts. 

It’s starting to drizzle which is more common than he wants it to be and it’s not helping his mood. It’s been a bad week, he’s started buying lunch again just to take it into the hallway under the pretense of going to the library where he throws it in the trash before he can take a bite. 

His grades are slipping: mythology dropped from a 97 to 94, pre-calculus is down to 89, english is a miserable 93 and got to retake the economics test so he’s well above passing now with a 95. Scott complains that his grades are, ‘too good to worry about bro’ but it doesn’t disperse his inner turmoil. 

He can’t go for runs anymore because a teacher noticed the propped open door and shut it on him. That wasn’t fun trying to explain why he was outside in his gym clothes during his lunch period. 

Instead he’s taken to doing the staircase on the back hallway on the third floor, it’s a single stairway that goes up all three floors and it’s out of the way of most of the classrooms so there’s almost never anyone there. 

And to top it all off, now it’s drizzling as he sits in his not-well-heated jeep. 

He turns on his headlights on, puts it it drive, and pulls out of the parking lot, the bottles of soda rolling around on the back seat. 

The drive isn’t anything spectacular, the dreary roads blur together and he maneuvers the jeep with practiced precision and care. 

He’s going to be on time which means that he’ll end up being the first one there besides Derek. Not like he minds at all. He turns into the parking lot and is more than a little surprised when the cars are all here. They’re never here on time. 

He’s curious as he takes the steps and gets to the platform where the sliding door is.

The soda in the bag which is digging into his palm feels insignificant when he realizes that they’re not all just hanging around like they do before everyone’s here. They’re sitting down on the couch and loveseat and bean bags and the floor. And they’re having the meeting. 

Without him. 

A little part of his heart shatters even more when the all look over their shoulders and immediately stop their conversation. Except for Derek. Derek doesn’t turn around and doesn’t look at him. 

He tries to be happy. He really does. That’s what people are supposed to be, nice and bubbly and happy so he puts up the mask. He shoves the bad feelings away, buries them deep in his mind and pretends to be okay. 

It hurts more than he shows as he walks to the kitchen and pulls the soda out of the bag, leaving it on the counter. “What’s up guys? I got the root beer but it’s the crappy kind, I only had three bucks on me, ya know?” He talks fast and doesn’t look anyone in the eyes as he walks into the lopsided circle. Allison is sitting in his bean bag. His bean bag that Scott always saves for him. 

_ They started without you.  _

Why?

_ You’re not meant to be here. You’re not a wolf, banshee, hunter, what are you? Nothing. You’re nothing.  _

Scott pipes up leaning forward in his bean bag, “Just waiting for you bro, talking about a run next month at Derek’s house during the next full moon.”

Stiles knows that it’s an avoidance, he’s too familiar with using them on his dad, “Okay, cool, why not this week? Isn’t the full moon on Friday?”

“Well yeah, it’s on Thursday but we’ll all be-”Isaac kicks Scott’s beanbag and the quiet stretches into an uncomfortable silence, “busy” he finishes lamely.

“Okay, that’s cool, what’s on the agenda big bad?” Stiles asks Derek jokingly. The pack seems relieved to have moved on and Stiles plays the happy researcher, the linchpin of the group. They all lean back and immediately it’s easier to breathe. 

He can’t shake the feeling of betrayal once Derek starts the official meeting 

Isaac’s stomach growls obnoxiously loud and everyone looks at him, baffled that the teen could possibly be that hungry. Under the attention he just shrugs and gives a dorky smile, “A wolf’s gotta eat when a wolf’s gotta eat man.”

“There’s pizza in the oven and Lydia made cookies.” Erica chips in. The rush to the counter is primarily between Scott and Isaac with the girls hanging back and mumbling about hungry teenage male wolves are brutes. 

Not only is there pizza, there’s six boxes of three different types, three cheese, two pepperoni and one sausage because that’s the kind Boyd likes. Paper plates are handed out, mainly because there was an accident involving a dare which ended with shattered ceramics and an unhappy alpha. Napkins and forks feel heavy in Stiles’ hands as he admits to himself that he does have to eat in front of everyone or face the truth they would undoubtedly realize. 

He looks around the kitchen island and notices that it is decked to the nines with junk food, save for a sole salad abandoned on the counter, probably brought by Allison.

What were they talking about?

_ Apparently something they don’t trust you with dumbass. _

Why is Derek acting weird? He was okay just a few days ago. 

_ Nothing good lasts with you.  _

He cares. Stiles takes his phone and silently pulls up their last words, “Remember that I care Stiles. You’re not alone anymore. Goodnight.”

He cares. 

_ Apparently not. You were stupid to think he ever did.  _

_ And no food.  _

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. There’s a wrestling match on the floor between Isaac and Scott that Scott wins. Instead of giving Stiles their customary winning high-five, he steals a kiss from Allison and simply gives a toothy smile. 

Isaac’s a sore loser and just when Scott settled back in his bean bag Isaac rips it out from underneath him, starting another round. The whole pack besides from Derek and Stiles are laughing and cheering their friends on. 

When pack business it talked about the now ovular shaped circle is once again tense. Stiles gets edgy listening to them all avoid the elephant in the room. “What’s the big secret? Are you guys planning my surprise party? Because if so I should let you know that I want red balloons and a piñata. Maybe some hats and streamers too.” 

Everyone looks to Derek who is glaring at the skinny teen. If looks could kill he’d be ashes right now. “Well clearly you guys aren’t telling me something.” He glances at his friends who are looking even more uncomfortable than before. 

“Stiles it’s just that there’s a lot going on right now with something that you can’t know about...for your own safety.” Allison says, she’s the only one looking directly at him. “If you know it puts you in a bad situation.”

_ Pathetic, for your own safety? There’s nothing worth protecting.  _

“I don’t even know what you guys are talking about? Last I knew we’d started looking into the wendigo case, that’s it!”

She opens her mouth and shuts it and then he knows. 

“It’s about the wendigo? Seriously?! I have the most right to know out of all of you!” He’s angry now and starts yelling, they have no right to keep him from this. “I lost part of my family to that thing! I lost the most important thing that I have from my mom and you didn’t want to tell me?! Why Not?” 

Stiles stands up and looks down on all of them, “What about that puts me in danger?!”

Derek’s voice is gruff when he finally speaks up, “You’re not healthy and we can’t risk you getting injured.”

_ Cover. You need a cover. _

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m the most fit I’ve ever been! I’m running faster, I’m more athletic, and I’m and losing weight. Where does that make me not healthy?”

Isaac stands up too, “What about the part where you  _ passed out in school  _ because you haven’t been eating? Is that nothing?” His tone is accusatory and harsh. “I think that’s where you’re not exactly healthy.” The beta crosses his arms and widens his stance, probably unconsciously making himself more threatening. 

_ What? No No No No No. This is not happening.  _

All eyes are on Stiles and he feels the pressure like it’s a physical force pushing down on him. It’s also the first time that anyone has outed him for that incident. They all knew and nobody had brought it up, until now. 

“That was an accident! I just got busy and forgot to eat enough, that’s all that happened!” 

_ You just blatantly lied in a room full of werewolves. Bravo dumbass, round of applause.  _

Isaac’s eyes glowed bright gold “Really? That’s your excuse? You do know who you’re lying to right?”

“What’s your problem anyways wolf-boy? It’s nothing and you’re making a big deal over it.”

“I can literally bench press more than you weigh Stiles. You’re a twig! Oh and don’t forget the part where you skip lunch every day to go running, how about-”

“Seriously this isn’t a courtroom! I don’t need to justify my actions to you!”

“You’re so freaki-” 

“I’m so what Isaac? So messed up?” He 

Stiles takes a step forward, the adrenaline making him bold.

“That’s really great coming from the guy who lives with PTSD because his dad locked him in a freezer!” The room gets silent; the loudest sound his own breathing. No-one brings up Isaac’s dad. Ever. It’s a low blow but it’s what had to be done Stiles tells himself as the six other pairs of eyes stare at him in shock. 

He feels his heart erratically beating as he watches Isaac’s fight drain out of him, giving his face an unnaturally pale tone. 

God he’s such a jerk, there were times when he’d comforted Isaac when they were in an elevator or a room that was too small because of his claustrophobia. 

_ It’s over. Good job _

Isaac’s my friend

_ Your friend? You don’t have friends, you’re fat and nobody likes a fatty. It’s better this way.  _

I hurt him. 

_ You did what you had to do. He’s not good for you anyways. He knows too much.  _

He’s my friend

_ Not anymore _

“You have your shit and I have mine.” He whispers, aware of what he just did and that he just lost Isaac and maybe the rest of the pack too. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears and underneath that the still remaining silence that emphasizes the wrong he just did. 

Stiles walks to the door and shoves his feet into his sneakers, his running sneakers, and opens the door and runs out. No-one tries to stop him. Surprisingly he doesn’t cry. There’s simply just a point that he reaches every once and awhile where he doesn’t have it in him to cry anymore. Instead there’s mostly anger and disappointment

How easy would it be to take the mountain road home and just speed up and make it look like an accident. There’s a steep ravine on the left, a few seconds of dropping and then silence.

It could be blamed on tons of different things, slippery conditions, swerving to avoid an animal, distraction. Car crashes happen everyday. His dad would be okay chalking it up to a simple crash, an accident, not suicide. Derek would be the one to figure it out and that makes him mad.

If options were that easy he’d be gone, he’d have been gone years ago, but here he is because options are never that easy and string-free, he’s here because he cares.

He cares about his dad and Scott and Melissa, he cares about the pack that now hates him, and he cares about Derek. 

 

His dad has the late shift so it’s him and the house. The air inside is cold and there’s something that he needs to do. A hot bath will take care of both, two birds with one stone. 

He turns on the lights and stereo because he can’t stand anymore silence. The stairs are cold on his sock covered feet and he strips out of his clothes and runs the bath. 

Getting the kit together is quick, there’s less blades to choose from since Derek took his stash he had in his drawer so it narrows down what he can use. There’s the slim possibility that he just misplaced the little black box but it’s unlikely. At the same time though Derek hasn’t mentioned finding them. It’s leaving him unnerved. 

But he still has his favorite. It’s small for a single blade from a razor but bigger than a pencil sharpener blade. It’s sharp and has the perfect drag feeling as it dances over his skin. 

The process is easy: position the blade, drag, feel the pain, repeat. 

_ You fucked up so bad tonight. So fucking bad.  _

_ You’re a disgusting friend, you’re less than that, you’re not even a friend.  _

Stiles touches his toes into the water and it burns, it  _ hurts. _ And it’s perfect. He lowers his body into the scalding water until he rests against the bottom of the tub. His thighs are totally covered and the water reaches up. 

He takes the blade and remembers Isaac’s face, the pain that he caused. 

_ You’re a terrible person.  _

It’s an easy decision to make long, cuts tonight. Drag out the pain. 

One. Two. Three.    

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. 

Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. 

_ You actually thought that Derek loved you. Pathetic _

Move the blade to the next leg when that one’s too full and the other too empty. 

Skin splits and in that fraction of a second he can see the white tissue, small lines, that quickly fill with blood until there’s an angry red line staring back at him. It’s like the blood is getting rid of the hurt inside of him, the pain that he holds inside, the shame. 

He hurt Isaac. It’s only fair that he hurts himself too.

Instead of wiping up the red beads he lets them run down the side of his leg, red streaks, rivers.. They spread into the water, the different liquids tumbling together as they swirl with the motion from him moving in the tub. It’s mesmerizing and he takes turns between each cut to watch the blood run into the water. Red staining the pure clear water.

Derek hates me.

_ You deserve it. Stupid to think that anything good could happen to you  _

I thought he liked me

_ There’s a reason we don’t hope, it’s less painful when people disappoint you in the end.  _

_ When you scare them away. _

He looks over at the navy blue sweatshirt draped over the back of his chair and has the sudden want to grab it and curl up with it again. It probably still smells like Derek too. 

Turning away he positions the cold metal over his other thigh, not the inside, too sensitive from Monday to cut there again so soon. 

One. Two. Three. 

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. 

Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. 

Derek would be mad at me for doing this

_ Well Derek’s not here is he? _

When there are four rows of cuts running down the tops of both of his thighs he can finally breathe again for a moment before the sadness sinks in. 

It’s like a black hole, that’s the best way to describe it. Everything that’s ever been good is suddenly gone and can’t be found again. His energy is gone and his bones ache with a pain that isn’t physical. 

He doesn’t even manage to clean himself up, just tucks the blade away, taped to the underside of one his drawers in his nightstand. A place no-one would look unless they knew what to look for. 

His phone is in his hand as he looks at the messages Derek sent him. His fatty fingers hover over the ‘delete conversation’ option. He presses the grey rectangle and then those empty loving words are gone. They were never even really there in the first place were they?

_ You’re damaged. You’re fucking NOTHING! _

He can’t help but agree. The voices are too strong and convincing, too many examples of how bad he is are piling up. 

There’s too much and it’s easier to agree than to try and argue which he always loses anyways. 

The tiredness is closing in on him as he slides on his pyjamas he saves for these nights, big and fuzzy so the blood doesn’t seep through. Stiles rolls everything up in the towel that’s on his bed and shoves it on the top shelf of his closet. 

The last things he does is take odor-neutralizer and sprays it everywhere. Preventative measures with having werewolves on your case. He bought it online after Derek found out and Isaac confronted him in the locker room. Then he falls into his bed and just manages to pull the covers up to his neck before falling into a restless sleep. 

He dreams of how Derek held his hand in the car, how he cradled him in the house they broke into and how he pulled him close when they were watching tv on the couch. It quickly turns into another nightmare.

When he wakes up alone just 40 minutes later he knows that it’s going to be another long night. 

 

Eventually after repeating the fall asleep and wake up method for a good three hours he gives up and hops onto the floor, feet padding quietly as he slips into his desk chair and leans back. 

He messed up really bad with Isaac tonight and he needs a guiding hand now more than ever but he’s too afraid to ask. 

Instead he opens a square wooden box with, a memory box his mother always said, ‘to keep the happiness inside’. There’s the ticket from his first baseball game and his first tooth he insisted on keeping, and seashells they found together out at the ocean. What he wants is buried at the bottom of the elegant mahogany box, and he delicately pushes through the trinkets, smiling to himself when he remembers the meaning of a lacrosse ball until he finds it. 

A small photo, a wallet sized, slightly worn picture. One edge is torn and a corner is folded. It was taken years ago but the color hasn’t faded and the signs of regularly handling it just means that it was important. Still is important.

It instantly makes him feel sad but then he feels whole again because in the picture his mom is smiling at him. Her beautiful smile and soft eyes dancing in delight as a younger version of himself wraps his arms around her neck kissing her cheek, his dad standing proudly with his arms wrapped around both of them. 

He feels his heart clench, missing his mom and the warmth she always provided. The advice she always gave him, ‘you have to add love to make the brownies taste good’ and ‘always be the good person’, his personal favorite, ‘jump with two feet in the puddle to make a big splash!’. 

He remembers his mom waking him up with a mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows on snow days and how she would always have the right thing to say. 

It’s sacred when he opens the box because he can’t spoil the precious memories that he still has. But when he does look at the small tokens of his childhood they calm him. He looks at the picture and smiles, a small happy tear slides down his cheek. It doesn’t feel like he’s so alone anymore. 

Stiles takes the picture and props it up against his binders on his desk as he turns his laptop on. Once it’s running he finds the digital folder he saves for times like these. There’s more than two hundred pictures, all digitally scanned and saved. They range from his mom holding him in the hospital when he was first born to his dad napping with him on his chest, swinging gently on the hammock in the backyard. 

There’s pictures of him chasing ducks as the state park and a mini-golf putter that’s taller than he is. One of his mom and dad kissing and another of all of them in a bear-hug. There’s pictures of flowers, buttercups, that his mom took. Simple and elegant. Pictures of them at the zoo with penguins and monkeys and zebras. 

One of his favorites is a picture of them walking on the beach, small Stiles being swung between his parents, their hands holding him up as his feet lifted off the ground. 

He plays them on a slideshow until his nerves calm and he’s feeling better and even them he keeps watching, because he’s fond of the memories and it helps. 

When his mom finally told him one day that she was very sick he had started to cry. Scott had told him about how his hamster got sick and died and it was never coming back. He didn’t want to lose his mom. He didn’t want her to never come back. She had hushed him and placed kisses on all of his fingers and said that she would always be here with him. 

When he asked her how she could always be here if she was sick, she had taken his tiny hand in hers and placed them on his heart and said, ‘I’ll always be in here’. 

Once the pictures ended he watches them again. When he’s done he’s tired and calm enough that he’s ready to finally sleep as he turns off his laptop and tucks the picture back into the memory box. 

There’s no way to know how tomorrow will be, but for right now he’s peaceful.

 

Saturday; 1pm. Stiles opens his eyes to the sunshine coming in through his windows, he forgot to close his blinds. No school, it’s for the best anyways. 

Pain rolls around in his stomach. It’s been three days since he ate last, since he came home and had a glass of milk. Milk counts because it isn’t water or a breath mint, those are the only things he has on a fast and even then the mints mean thirty lunges and thirty sit-ups.

Next comes the grounding shame. Even after all these years every time he has to wake up and face what he’s done, it’s embarrassing. He hurt himself, again. 

_ You’re a freak. Freaking mental. _

He’s going to keep these scars for the rest of his life, however long that’ll be, and the guilt piles up on him. His mom wouldn’t want this for him. 

Stiles lays in his bed for what feels like multiple hours, although it could have been only minutes. 

It’s a cycle Dr. Mullen told him once, you feel depressed and hurt, so then it all builds up and then you cut, then after the glowing phase fades away you’re left with the reality of what you’ve done, and it makes you hurt even more. And the only way you know how to deal with the pain is to cut again, keeping the circle in motion. 

He’s lost his glowing phase and feels the skin pulling on his pyjama pants, he didn’t clean them up last night. For a moment he remembers last night and the pictures, how he felt whole again, but now he’s half-empty. The cuts have started to heal and now he has to go rip them from the fabric, just like pulling a bandaid off and quickly wipe up the blood that will start to flow again. 

Stiles hisses as the pain rips through his legs when the fabric comes off. 

But it’s okay because his dad isn’t here, Derek isn’t here, Scott doesn’t care, and he’s lost Isaac and the rest of the pack. He had held out hope for Lydia and even the thoughts of his mom can’t comfort him under the sun’s revealing rays. Everything is easier at night when something can be anything and reality seems to fade for a few hours underneath the dark veil of the night sky.

He feels alone again. Before there was always the little improbably sliver of hope that someone still cared. That Derek cared.

_ He doesn’t. He never did. He played you and you let it happen.  _

I know I know I know. 

And it hurts. 

Three workout videos and even constantly moving when he’s showering to get the sweat off of his skin. The cuts are deeper than he thought and the water stings as it falls onto the sad red lines. It’s okay, he deserves the pain anyways. He’s a terrible person. 

_ Oh how very emo of you, take a bow _

He’s given up his will to do anything today so he settles on sleeping. It’s always a safe move, if you’re not awake, you can’t eat. And he’s always so tired and cold. 

 

Stiles tries to make a point. He makes a hamburger and curly fries and pours himself a glass of orange soda. He sits at the table and stares at the food for the longest time. 

I can control this, I can eat whenever I want to. It’s not a problem. 

He eats a sesame seed from the hamburger bun and the zero-calorie pickle on the side. Twenty minutes later he’s sitting at the table, not a single bite taken. It’s a hard reality.

_ You don’t need to eat that, think of how much fatter you’ll be! _

I know but it’s not a big deal. I used to eat this every month. 

_ And look how fat you were. _

Just to prove a point. I can control this. 

_ Do not eat that! _

It’s a stalemate that lasts another half an hour before he stands up and throws the rest of his meal away and pours the soda down the drain. 

“FUCK!” He’s so upset, they were right, he can’t control this. But at the same time he loves it because it gives him a different type of control. There’s so much in his life, friends, school, supernatural crap that he can’t control. This is something familiar and constant. 

The hours pass slowly, like an ice cube melting in 33 degrees Fahrenheit. Impossibly slow. Then he gets the brilliant idea, text Derek. 

 

Stiles- Can we talk, my house at 5?

It’s already 4:10 but the wolf never does anything, he’s almost always open.

_ What was that? Why did you text him?! _

What if he cares?

_ You know he doesn’t _

Then it won’t be a big deal. 

After twenty three minutes, not that he was counting, without his phone going off he knows it was a stupid, irrational decision. 

_ Bad idea _

Stiles- Nevermind. 

Almost Immediately there is a response.

Derek- I’m already on my way, be there in fifteen. 

_ Why did you do that! He hates you! _

Why is it when you want something, it seems to take forever for it to happen but when you don’t want, time just disappears? Because the world hates you, that’s why. Sooner than he wishes, because he’s regretting his text there’s a knock on the door. 

What he sees isn’t what he’s expecting, Derek isn’t wearing his jacket and he has bags under his eyes. 

“Hey Sourwolf” he says through his door as he opens it up. There isn’t a response from the man. “Um yeah so I don’t really know why I wanted you to come over earlier, spur of the moment I guess. But this doesn’t have to be a thing, I mean like it’s totally cool but, there’s stuff I can do and you’ve gotta have wolfy stuff to do.” 

The young man doesn’t say anything and Stiles is really tired and speaks softly to Derek, “I can stand here all day and talk to myself but you’re the one who insisted on coming over and I don’t have enough energy to do this anymore.” 

He leans against the doorframe and the breeze makes him shiver even if it’s 78 outside. He sizes up Derek and tries to make himself look bigger. “Whatever” he goes to shut the door but then there’s a big hand on the door handle pulling it open. 

Derek takes off his shoes and stands there awkwardly for a moment before sighing, “Stiles, last nig-” 

“If it’s about last night I really don’t want to talk about it.” he snaps. Derek looks frustrated at being interrupted. 

“That’s the point Stiles we do need to talk about this. I told the pack last night-”

“You told them?!” Oh hell no. On a scale of one to ten his day is negative ten thousand right now.

“Stop interrupting me and you’d know what I was going to say.” Stiles wisely decides to keep his mouth shut and opt to glower at him instead. “No, I didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something again but ends just looking like a goldfish, his mouth opening and shutting as he decides whether or not to say anything. He chooses to be quiet. 

Derek may or may not crack a fraction of a smile at his actions. “I just said that you’re dealing with some personal stuff right now and that I didn’t think that you meant what you told Isaac. I didn’t mention the other thing at all.”

“Thanks.”

“You do have some explaining to do still.”

Stiles quickly becomes very animated. “I have some explaining to do? I walked in on everyone having a pack meeting without me, I mean like what was that about? The wendigo, like the same one at the house? Why didn’t you tell me?” His face fades from anger to hurt as he stands there, smaller and colder then Derek who towers over him even after his last growth spurt. 

Derek pulls out a chair and seems to shrink into the seat Stiles stays standing, “It’s a long story Stiles…”

“Please tell me.”

That’s how they stay for the next hour and a half as Derek explains the wendigo situation. Wendigos are essentially derived from cannibalism and survive on regularly eating humans. They had managed to break into the wendigo’s nest, the house. He tells Stiles that while they had only seen one, there must be at least three more as they live in groups. 

The unnerving part is their uncanny ability to look perfectly human, it isn’t until they are hunting or feeding that their bodies shift. 

The rest of the pack, Allison included, had been updated and were planning on an attack Thursday night because it would be a full moon, easier to access their natural strength and provide more moonlight to see the situation. Killing the wendigos was the only way or else they’d relocate and start their killings again and develop another nest. 

“So just tell me again why I wasn’t told all of this.” Stiles listened quietly through the whole explanation even when Derek faltered. .

_ Because they don’t need you. You’ll hold them back.  _

_ You’re worthless to them. _

“You know why, you’re not healthy enough and we don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Okay but contrary to popular belief I actually can take care of myself. I ate earlier, a hamburger and a pickle thank you very much.”

Derek shoots him an incredulous look, “Is that what’s sitting at the bottom of the garbage can? Smells like there’s potatoes too.”

Stiles is immediately embarrassed and he can feel as his cheeks get hot and red. “Um, yeah I only ate some of it.” He knows that Derek can tell that he’s lying but is grateful that he lets it go. 

_ Good job convincing him _

“You can’t come with us Stiles, it’s too dangerous. We’re going to have Lydia stay with you.” he says gently as if he can tell how fragile Stiles is right now.

Stiles actually sighs at that. “I can shoot a gun and I’ve trained with you guys for years, why can’t I come with you? I don’t need a babysitter-”

_ There’s something else he’s not telling you. What is it? _

“I wasn’t saying that you do, I’d bet better if you were both together in case something went wrong you guys could work together.” It’s a weak explanation that Derek offers but looking at him, they’re both tired so he rolls with it. 

_ A babysitter? More like make sure you don't come and fuck everything up.  _

“So Thursday night then?” He asks, tired of talking about it. 

“It’s a school night but it’s our best chance as getting rid of their threat.” Derek leans back into his chair and Stiles’ feet are starting to get sore. “There’s a maximum of four of them; it won’t be a problem for the whole pack.”

“Yeah, okay.” it actually makes sense when he looks at it all and though it does hurt him, he also knows that it’s annoyingly rational. 

_ But what isn’t he telling you? _

“But why didn’t you just tell me what the plan was?” He tries to keep the pain out of his voice as he schools his face into one of neutrality. He knows that he’s also not fooling Derek because he can probably smell everything anyways. 

With a sigh Derek starts, “It was easier. You would have insisted on coming and then we would have had to make sure that you didn’t try to. And now we-”   
“And now you have to worry about keeping the stupid human safe.”

“That’s not how it is and I hope that you’d know that by now.”  Why is is that recently Derek can see straight through him?

_ It is the truth though. You’re a problem, always getting in the way. Always messing everyone up.  _

Stiles sighs and leans against the counter, his fingers playing with the countertop as he stares at the table. He’s tired, sad, ashamed of himself, and angry at his life.

Derek breaks the heavy silence. “You’re not stupid” he says with a pained  smile, “It’s more than that Stiles, just trust me that I’m telling you everything that I can right now.”

Dr. Mullen says that he has trust issues.

“Last night was just a meeting to make sure everything was in place.”

Stiles sighs to himself, “Like me?”

“You weren't supposed to know. We’re doing this to keep everyone safe.” 

Stiles gets it to a certain extent, “Yeah.” He isn’t going to push it even though a small part of him wants to. 

There’s a small voice in his head, a different, nicer voice that has a question. “Is Isaac okay?”

Derek actually seems to relax into the kitchen chair, “He’s fine, I talked to him before I went to sleep last night. I think that he knows that he was over the line yesterday.” Stiles agrees with that, but if the shoes were reversed he’d be up in Isaac’s face wondering what was wrong too, so it’s understandable but still irritating. 

_ What you did was unforgivable. You’re not a real friend. You hurt everyone you know.  _

Derek says that he’s okay, that Isaac’s okay

_ He’s lying.  _

Why would he lie about that?

_ Because you’re too fucking weak to handle the truth.  _

“We had a discussion about anger control and situation assessment. When he went after you it was uncalled for and disrespectful, not to mention he knows that you’re having some issues.”

Stiles feels embarrassed, he was the reason for Isaac’s treatment. “You didn’t have to do that. I was being a dick too.”

“Yes I did.” Derek responds, “You’re a member of the pack and deserve to be treated as much. Erica went off on him too last night once everyone else had left.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “The difference was that your response was in self-defense and Isaac’s action was out of anger. None of us blame you, if anything we were all worried.”

Before Stiles can stop himself he’s saying, “But you didn’t come over. You didn’t even text me.”

There’s a moment when Stiles wants to dig a hole and just die because he actually said that didn’t he?

_ What the hell was that? Why are you being so freaking needy? _

_ Get it through your thick skull, HE DOESN’T CARE! _

“I figured that you wanted to be away from all of us, have some space.” Stiles can see the regret and sadness in Derek’s eyes when he pieces everything together without being told all of the story. “Did you hurt yourself last night after you left?” 

LIE.

The hurt in the wolf’s eyes is saddening and unnerving to Stiles. 

LIE TO HIM! SAY SOMETHING!

A silence on both of their ends puts the final piece in place. 

“I’m sorry” he whispers because it’s the only thing that he can think of. It’s embarrassing to admit what he’s done.

Derek sighs and wipes his hand down his face before it fists in his hair. “Stiles…” he starts but loses the words and doesn’t continue. “Why didn’t you…” he gives up again, visibly frustrated.

_ You made him upset _

_ HE HATES YOU! _

He wants to fight, to argue and yell at Derek. He wants to punch his stupid perfect face, scream, and cry. He wants to break down and melt away, and swear up and down the walls.

But he isn’t angry at Derek, he’s angry at himself.

Derek exhales deeply, “I’m sorry too Stiles, I should have come over or at least called.” He has this gloomy and regretful look on his face and that won’t do at all. 

“It’s not your fault, it is what it is.” If anything that statement puts a rock in his stomach. Is this really all there is? Has his life been reduced to sadness and pain? His mom would have argued with him because there’s ice cream sundaes and rainbows after storms, water balloon fights, birthdays, and a blue sky above their heads at all times, even if they just can’t see it right then. 

“You’re here now.”

_ YOU’RE TOO DAMAGED! _

“It doesn’t matter, you’re part of the pack, we care about you. I care about you more than you know Stiles.” Derek stands up and walks over to the counter and leans against it too. “It doesn’t have to be right now, but will you show me before I have to leave later? Just to make sure that they’ll be fine?” He turns his body so they’re facing each other.

_ You don’t DESERVE him! _

Stiles gets lost in the green eyes that have a hint of blue in them today, “Yeah, I can do that.”

It’s embarrassing to admit that he did it again, that he wasn’t stronger than the disease that controls him every waking, and sometimes sleeping moment. But at the same time there’s Derek, who’s here now, close to him, asking him if he’s alright and if he can take care of him later.

Stiles stares at the young year old man who seems infinitely older right now and can’t help but get lost in the hope that  _ he cares _ . He’s watching Derek’s lips but doesn’t realize that he was asked a question until he notices that Derek is waiting for an answer. There’s a small chuckle. “It’s okay, I just asked if you were feeling any better.” 

_ No, no, no, no, NO! _

_ He doesn’t care about you! You’re fucking broken! _

I love him anyways.

_ YOU DON’T DESERVE HIM! _

I love him.

Stiles answers truthfully, “I am now.”Derek gives an appreciative hum and tilts his neck down slightly so that he can look at Stiles, their faces close as his breath fans across Stiles’ mouth and nose. “Good.”

Stiles can’t help but think that Derek can be his flower, his yellow buttercup because right now, this close to him, the voices have stopped. He’s like a barrier between Stiles and himself.  Derek can be a new memory to add to the velvet lined box.

He gently presses his lips against Derek’s and kisses him, and for one moment the world stops spinning and simply explodes. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everybody for your support with this chapter. I got lost of good comments on this chapter and how it made some of you guys emotional, and I'm really sorry that I took some of that away. However, I wasn't feeling the angrier tone and there were some thing that I didn't like. I felt that it was lacking some of my more in-depth analysis of the situations and some explanation.  
> I also felt like I didn't put enough effort into the chapter in general and that I rushed it a lot, skimming over somethings and totally skipping others. So I hope that it turned out okay and would really appreciate comments and kudos, it lets me know the amount of interest in the story if nothing else.  
> And kinda a little cliff hanger there, but seriously people, it's tagged Sterek for a reason, it had to happen at some point. ;)
> 
> Thank you all for your love and support!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the kiss. Stiles and Derek are rocky, but it's still something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry about the delay, I had my first serious case of writer’s block. Thank you all for sticking with me even after this long spot between chapters! Without all of the comments and support and love that you all gave me, this chapter probably still wouldn’t be here. All of the comments were nothing short of wonderful, how much you all believe in me helps to keep me going on some of my bad days. I left off with Stiles kissing Derek right? Let’s pick up there…

_ What did you do? _

_ What the actual hell?! _

_ WHAT ARE YOU DOING? _

But his lips are still locked with Derek’s as he leans heavily on the counter. The feeling of weight and warmth against him is so relaxing that he can almost forget what’s actually happening. That he’s kissing Derek freaking Hale. 

Derek’s lips are still against his own and  _ oh  _ that’s not how this is supposed to work. He turns his body and moves his face away from Derek’s as he looks at the floor and feels the blood all rushing to his face, embarrassed beyond what he thought was possible. 

_ What did you think was going to happen? _

I thought that he would kiss me back. 

_ Well you thought wrong you freak.  _

Stiles moves to get away, to run as far away as he can from the man standing stock still in front of him in his kitchen. Just as he takes a step towards the stairs and his room, his blades, there’s a hand wrapped with crushing force around his wrist, pulling him back. Startled he looks up into the green eyes that are searching for something. 

_ Run! Get away from him!  _

_ One fucking hundred _

_ Lock the door, mountain ash, blades, cut.  _

“I’m sorry” he breathes out because he just messed everything up. This wasn’t supposed to happen, Derek shouldn’t be here in the first place, they weren’t supposed to be kind-of-friends. Derek shouldn’t have been with him as they went into that house or at the restaurant or later in his bedroom. He shouldn’t be in his thoughts every single minute and Derek Hale, alpha werewolf should definitely not be standing in his kitchen right now. 

Their eyes are still staring at each other ten seconds later and Stiles unwillingly sheds a tear, feeling it run down his cheek. Then he’s being pulled into strong arms as Derek cages him against the counter and lifts his chin up all in a split-second movement. “Shhh calm down. It’s okay.” There’s no hesitation this time as Derek leans in with clear intent and kisses Stiles. 

Now his lips are moving against the teens, simultaneously hard and gentle. There’s nothing harsh about the kiss, Derek is giving as much as he’s taking because Stiles is kissing him back. Their lips brush over each other’s as they pull apart for a moment to breathe. Derek’s lips are wet and soft and suddenly Stiles can’t help but think that his lips are chapped, he didn’t use his chapstick and now he’s kissing Derek Hale with chapped lips. 

Derek doesn’t seem to care because he brings them together again and they kiss like a dance, moving together perfectly.

Stiles figured that he would be the one with some more experience because honestly, Derek hasn’t kissed anyone in a while, yet he’s being proved wrong again because Derek has taken total control and is blowing his mind.

Stiles can feel himself giving in to the feeling and his legs aren’t responding quite as well as they were a moment before. 

Then there’s a strong, muscular leg being placed in between his own and the werewolf licks across his bottom lip before taking it gently in his teeth and giving the smallest of tugs. Stiles readily gives up his control as Derek licks his way into Stiles’ mouth. 

The kiss is desperate because fuck, let’s be honest here, this is a mistake and is never going to happen again, so Stiles takes what he can get from it knowing this this is his one chance. Derek explores Stiles’ mouth and nips at his lips until he can feel them starting to swell, knowing that there’s a good chance that they’ll be bruised later. 

Stiles gives himself to Derek, going limp on the counter as he feels Derek’s hand roam up his legs and settle on his hip. His calloused hands are warm and surprisingly gentle. Stiles feels the firm chest under him hums, almost bordering on a purr

He’s enjoying this so much because it has literally be his. fantasy for the past three years to be kissing a certain Hale,  but this isn’t real, this is a lie. 

_ Derek doesn’t love you. This is a mistake _

_ He’s going to stop and realize that this is wrong and he’s going to leave.  _

Derek runs both of his hands now, up and down Stiles’ sides and he squirms under the touch. His fat is there, his disgusting stomach fat, his love handles, his pudge, but he tries to push it out of his mind. When a once in a lifetime experience comes around, he’s going to at least try not to ruin it.

_ Suck your gut in! You need to start doing more sit-ups.  _

He turns his stomach away from wandering hands as he tries to keep kissing  Derek. Then before he can protest those hands are grabbing the back of his thighs and lifting him onto the counter for better access and to hold him still. 

What they both momentarily forgot was that his skin was no longer free from open wounds. Stiles stops kissing and hisses and Derek notices his grimace. He can feel the bandage being pulled from his skin and knows that soon there will be fresh blood on the ace wrap. 

Just as quickly as Derek picked him, he places his feet back on the tile floor and Stiles can’t help but feel sad that their moment is already gone. 

_ You ruined it you cutting freak! You were kissing Derek effing Hale and you had to make him stop.  _

Stiles hangs his head down, bowed beneath Derek’s that is unnervingly still _.  _ He can feel as Derek takes a big breath and slowly lets it out through his nostrils, his chest deflating.

The end. 

He can’t make himself move although he wants to. All that comes out is another embarrassing apology. “s-sorry”. He  mentally flinches as his voice cracks,  _ how much more needy can you seem? _

The chest under him jostles him a bit as it moves up and down, laughing at him. 

Stiles moves his head and slowly brings his eyes to meet forest green. The eyes are pained and sad. 

_ You made him sad. How can you say that you love him when all that you do is hurt him? _

Expecting complete rejection Stiles is already trying to back away, but Derek still has him caged next to the counter. He’s surprised when the words he receives are soft but steady, and with an underlying tone of command. 

“First you need to stop apologising for things that aren’t your fault. That wasn’t your fault.” Derek’s chest rumbles with a small laugh. “That was my bad.”

_ There it is. The regret, it’s ‘his bad’. And you actually kept hoping that he would say that he loved you. Pathetic.  _

“And then you need to stop thinking so loud.”

_ Didn’t say anything about love now did he? _

He ducks his head again, what does he do now? 

Derek takes a step back, a small step really, but it feels like there’s a big gap. 

_ Now he’s going to realize that was nothing more than a mistake.  _

Stiles zones out, trying to focus on anything else really, trying to forget how amazing the kiss felt. It’s a struggle as he doesn’t stare at those now red lips. Totally not remembering the way they were soft and receiving, but still showing that he was in control. 

It was everything that he had hoped for for the past three years. Suddenly he was angry, no correct that, he was furious. Stiles looks around and wants to slam the cabinets, flip the table, and break the messy plates on the counter by slamming them into hundreds of tiny pieces. He wants to see how broken he feels. He wants to make someone or something feel the way he feels: confused, sad, scared, and overwhelmed. More overwhelmed than anything else. Like he can’t possibly go on this way without exploding. He’s too angry and too sad and it’s all going to hell.

He doesn’t know what to do. What is he supposed to do now? Now that everything is going to change, because that’s how it happens right? There’s a kiss and everything changes, the boy gets the girl and happily ever after. Well, not in this movie. He kissed Derek and everything is going to go to shit. 

He looks up at Derek again and his green eyes are questioning the state of the teenager right now. Stiles knows that he most definitely does not look normal. 

_ What do you do? What do you do! _

Well talking has always been an unsafe fallback, why change now?

“God I’m so sorry, that wasn’t supposed to happen, like what was I thinking, you know? Apparently I wanted to kiss you, which I have for a while now, and I don’t know what was different this time, but like yeah I did do the thing. Like kiss you, multiple times, way too many times. I don’t know why I didn’t stop. And I know that you didn’t exactly stop me, I mean like you did kind of kiss  _ me  _ the second time but that was okay I guess, you know heat of the moment and all that type of stuff. And it’s totally okay if you want to take it back, I mean like you can’t physically take it back, but I can just try to forget what I-you-we just did, if you didn’t like it or whatever. I mean like I wouldn’t be first in line to kiss me if I was given the chance so it’s okay if it was a mistake. I guess like what were you doing?”

He couldn’t make himself stop even if he wanted to, which he does. Instead words keep falling from his lips and he’s so embarrassed at himself, why can’t he just be normal for once?

“And maybe it was just pity because that’s been a slight trend lately and everything but I honestly don’t need it. I don’t want you to pity me or kiss me because you feel bad for me because at the end of the day, you kissed me and that means a lot to me and it’s not fair if you can go to sleep tonight and not feel anything when I’m going to be lying awake all night just remembering and trying to convince myself that everything is still going to be okay when it clearly won’t be because I just fucked up everything that I wanted! I don’t need your pity!” 

“I hate when people pity me, because it’s all just misleading. I don’t need your pity, I need you to love me!”

While he slows his breathing he stares at Derek and can see how wide his eyes are, very surprised and confused.

“It’s not pity if I meant it.”

_ What? Lying. He’s lying. _

“Don’t lie to me Derek!”   
“Please do explain why you think I’m lying to you!”

Why is Derek resisting? “It’s because you are, you’re lying because you don’t like me!”

But instead of backing down Derek rises to the fight with his own tactic. “Why do you think that I don’t like you? Why don’t you believe me?”

_ Because you’re fat, crazy, depressed, cutter, freak, ugly, pathetic, human, worthless, damaged, broken, weak, scarred, scared, mental, unnecessary, fucked-up, bad.  _

He can’t tell Derek any of that, then he’ll know exactly how messed up Stiles really is. 

And then he’ll be broken. Then be even more sad and alone. Then he’ll start pulling away from his friends and family; they’ll all forget about and hate him. Then he’ll flunk high school and never go to college. He’ll never get a job or a house or a normal life. He’ll never fall in love or have a family or kids. God he’ll never have any of that because he’s a freak and he can’t tell Derek. 

He knows in some small part of his brain, that this is irrational, that the world isn’t actually going to end, but it really feels like it. 

“Why would you-I just….ugh!” Stiles bends over himself before straightening up again. “I don’t think that you’re lying or anything-but it’s just” He takes a deep breath because this is taking more out of him that it would a normal person. His head is in a hundred places and each scenario is messing with him. “There’s nothing to like about me! So it’s just me stuck in my head between what you’re saying and me wanting to believe you because for fuck’s sake I’ve wanted to kiss you for how long now? And I want to believe you but how am I supposed to believe you when all I am is worthless?!”

Stiles is  out of breath by the time he’s done and Derek is just standing there, still looking at him although now it’s with a saddened gaze. 

They stand there for a little while before Derek speaks up. “I mean it though Stiles. I don’t pity you, I care about you. There’s so much to like about you that I don’t even know where to start.”

Stiles lets his shoulders droop there’s no more fight in his body. 

“What are you thinking about?” Derek has stayed standing where he is but dropped his crossed arms and is now resting on the embarrassingly old countertops. 

Stiles doesn’t give a verbal response but his shoulders slouch. 

How is he supposed to explain what having the world on his shoulders feels like? They stay like that for another minute as Stiles battles within himself, it’s like those little people on your shoulders do exist. But the angel is a weak skinny twig and the devil’s been taking steroids and going to the gym every day, there’s not really a fight. 

The pheromones rolling off of Stiles are putting Derek on edge. There’s sadness, anxiousness, anger, confusion, hurt, and scared all mixed together. It’s assaulting Derek’s nose and he has to fight back his wolf who wants out. It’s fighting to break through Derek’s constraint to  _ comfort, protect, love.  _ It takes everything he has to take a step back and regrets it immediately because there’s a sharp pang of distress on top of the other overwhelming smells. So he steps closer again and then Stiles’ heart rate rockets through the roof. What can he do? His wolf is whining at him, begging for the release that won’t come.

So instead he tries using his words. “What can I do Stiles?” Derek pleads with him, he needs to fix this, Stiles should never feel this way. “How can I help?”

When Stiles stays still, frozen at his spot against the counter and won’t make eye contact anymore Derek starts talking. 

“We all care about you Stiles. Me, I personally care about you so much that it hurts. It hurts to watch you when I don’t know what to do.”

Stiles sniffles and blinks his eyes as they get glossy, tears forming but still doesn’t look up. 

_ He doesn’t care. Ha can’t care about you. He deserves better than you.  _

Derek wouldn’t lie to me.

_ Well the times are a changing apparently _

No! He wouldn’t lie about this!

_ But he hasn’t exactly been telling you the whole truth...they were going to leave you out of the fight. Didn’t tell you about that now did they? _

Because Derek wants to keep me safe.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here Stiles, but I need to help you. What can I do?” Derek’s voice is penetrating his cloudy mind, trying to bring him back to the surface. He brings his eyes up, slowly and blinks away some of the fog when their eyes meet.

But Stiles is still in that place, the one where everything is too much, not because of his disorder, but just in general. There’s too much stress on him so his body makes the executive decision to just stop, and he lets it. 

Stiles knows where he is and everything that’s going on, he just isn’t responding anymore. And it’s probably freaking Derek out right now because he was ranting less than five minutes ago and now suddenly he’s mute, just an observer in his mind. 

This is not how today was supposed to go. 

He’s not exactly listening but still hears what Derek’s saying, “Can you walk?”

_ What _

He comes out of his mind with a jolt of pain and when he looks down Derek’s claws are out and they’re circling his wrist, pinching the skin on the top of his hand. “You with me Stiles?”

Technically speaking yes, ability wise, probably not. 

“Yeah” Stiles manages to get out his voice soft. 

“Can you walk to the couch?” Derek is looking at him again, claws retracted and his voice is soft and even. His fingers smooth over the pink skin. 

_ He’s going to sit you down and ditch you. Sit down ditch, what else. _

“Uh, yeah” he doesn’t talk loud, it’d break the serious moment. 

_ Might as well get it over. _

Stiles pushes off of the counter and straightens himself up, Derek less than a foot away from him. He shakes his sore legs and then he starts to walk over. He can feel the wolf’s hand hovering over the small of his back, ready to catch him if he falls. 

They get to the couch and Derek pulls the blanket back and Stiles sits down. Derek sits next to him with his body turned facing him. Stiles sits there trying desperately not to cry. 

_ You cry too fucking much, what are you, a pussy? _

“What do you need me to do Stiles?” The concern is chipping away at his resolve. 

_ Do Not Cry.  _

“It’s okay to not be okay Stiles, I promise. It’s okay.” Derek scooches closer and their thighs are touching. Then there’s a warm hand against his cheekbone, wiping away at a stray tear that he didn’t know had appeared. It’s like a floodgate, he cries on the sofa, under the warm blanket, arms wrapped around himself rocking back and forth slowly as he progresses into sobs interrupted by hiccups. 

Derek pulls him into his lap and Stiles buries his head into Derek’s neck, soaking his green henley, which just makes him cry harder. He can’t even cry without messing something up. His fingers grab at the hem of Derek’s shit and there’s a large hand holding his head gently in place. 

_ What are you doing? _

“Sh-s-shit D-Derek I’m so-so sorry! I don-don’t kn-know what’s wron-wrong with me!” 

Derek stays quiet, rubbing his free hand up and down his side. His shirt is ruined, a damp patch of tears and there's disgusting snot bubbles coming out of his nose.

“I’m sorry! I di-din-didn’t mean to, I’m so sor-sorry.”

It feels like hours that Stiles holds onto the man beneath him when the clock reads less than twenty minutes in total. 

When the tears have stopped Derek pulls back and looks at him and Stiles wants to just melt away. 

“It’s okay Stiles there is nothing to be sorry about.”

“But I kis-” he can’t even manage to say it, the truth is so bad. “I kissed you” he ends up whispering, knowing fully well that Derek can hear him perfectly. 

“And then I kissed you too” He has a sad, old look in his eyes as he looks down to the teen he’s still cradling. 

“But you only did it bec-”

“No. I did it because I wanted to, just like I want to do this.”

Their lips connect again and Derek cranes his neck down so that it’s comfortable for Stiles. But this time is different. It’s not scared and fast, or angry and confused. This time is proving a point and Stiles can feel it. 

When they pull apart he ducks his head into the warm chest again and this time he definitely knows that Derek’s chest is rumbling. “Why?”

Derek hums and rests his chin on the top of Stiles head and he can’t help but feel safe tucked under the wolf. “Because I can see all of the good that you can’t. You’re smart, and brave,and loyal, and funny. You’re selfless, and concerned about everyone else, you’re hard working, kind. You’re so great and you can’t even see any of it.” Derek places a soft, warm kiss on his forehead and Stiles may or may not be blushing a little. “You’re too good to be feeling this way Stiles.”

_ No you’re not. You’re bad. You’re a problem and always in the way, you’re a weak human that can’t even protect himself. You’re not good.  _

They stayed that way, silent and warm for a while before Stiles’ started to get nervous again. “What does this mean? Like this?” he motioned to them. “Because it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.” Life doesn’t work this way he tells himself, you’re not good enough. 

“Let’s just go with it. It means what we want it to mean.”

_ That’s a shit answer _

“But what do you want it to mean?”

Derek smiles a little bit, “I would like for it to mean that you tell me how you’re feeling so I can help, and that I can do this again” he ducks and Stiles leans up this time, bringing their mouths together, slotted against one another. 

Oh wow okay, he can get used to this.

“Um..yeah. I guess that works too.” 

He doesn’t seem as scary anymore.

By now it’s dark outside and the clock reads 8. 

“What time will your dad be home?”

_ Oh shit. Forgot about dad. What will you tell him? What will he think? Oh god you royally fucked this one up.  _

“In an hour. You should probably head back, do they even know where you are?”

“Isaac can fend for himself for a little longer. And I’m sorry but I need to see them Stiles, how bad they are.”

_ Shitty fuck on a stick _

This is the moment that he’s been trying to avoid all night since Derek found out. It’s not hospital worthy or anything, but it’s worse than the last time he saw them. They’re ugly, long and wide. And he lost count after sixty, at least thirty on each leg, that much he knows. Cutting is very uniform and it has a procedure. Lines, doesn’t have to be anywhere particular, but they all have to be in a line. Last night was bad, the lines are long and they still hadn’t fully stopped bleeding by the time he pulled himself out of his bathtub. 

Without saying anything Stiles gets off of Derek and the couch and heads upstairs, knowing that Derek’s following him.

They get to his room and he closes the door even though the house is empty besides for them, it’s a comfort thing. Derek stands tall and still next to his desk, eyes tracing his every move. 

Stiles feels so anxious, standing in his jeans that he knows he has to take off, and yeah they kissed, but still taking your pants off, they hadn’t made it that far, and definitely without such serious meaning. He takes a deep breath and unbuckles his belt and sits on his bed because he is  _ not _ going to stand in his room without his pants on. The legs of the pants are more difficult, the velcro of the bandage getting caught at one point on the denim. 

But then they’re off and he’s in his favorite Captain America shirt and his boxers and socks. Classy. 

Derek moves over and kneels next to him and starts unwrapping the bandages, carefully but with a steady motion and doesn’t stop until both legs are bare. He doesn’t say anything which puts Stiles more on edge than anything else. When he does look up, the bright green eyes seem duller than they were moments before and Stiles feels bad knowing that he made him upset. 

“It’s um...they’re not too bad. I’ve done worse before so...I mean like they’ll heal and everything, and it wasn’t your fault or Isaac’s or anyone else’s because I was just really, like you know, not right last night.” Stiles rambles on filling the silence because it was too quiet and it was making him nervous. 

“God Stiles, I’m so sorry.” he looks up at Derek and now his eyes are shining too. 

_ Great job! Derek does not cry, and you’re making him cry. You really messed up didn’t you. You’re hurting him. _

_ “ _ I wasn’t think straight last night and I didn’t even text you.” Derek whispers a loud, “Fuck!” before ducking his head so it lays next to Stiles’ left knee. “I’m so sorry Stiles. God. I’m so sorry.”

No no no no. Stiles can feel the surprise on his face. “No this isn’t your fault! Not at all, like I’ve just got a..problem. Like it’s not your fault that I can’t get upset without wanting to filet myself. There’s nothing you can do about that you know?”

With his head still down Derek sighs and mutters something that Stiles can’t manage to hear.

Stiles watches him until he brings his head up again and asks, “Where’s the first aid kit?”

Once he directed Derek to his bathroom and the wolf grabbed a towel he propped his arms behind him to watch. 

“This is going to burn” is the only warming he gets as the hydrogen peroxide runs over his leg and onto the white towel beneath him which is now covered in pink and red dots. It burns, god it freaking burns so much and it doesn’t feel any better on his other leg. The gauze is changed and the bandages put in place again and then they’re left staring at each other. 

 

And now if this was a romantic novel or a sad loving movie Derek would have given a small gasp or sad noise and look up at Stiles with sad eyes and lean up to give him a tender kiss. Then he would slowly move back down his body until his face was ghosting over Stiles’ thighs and simply looked at the scars, from fresh, to years old. Then he would softly kiss all of his scars, which let’s be honest is very impractical because there’s more than he ever wants to admit, hundreds actually. 

But Derek would kiss his whole leg, from the bottom of his foot, an experiment once, to his hip, a common place for his blade. It would be so tender that Stiles would let out small gasps and lie still as Derek moved onto his next leg, bottom of his foot to hip again. When Derek is done he’ll carefully crawl back up onto Stiles’s bed and lie so that they’re facing one another. Derek will softly run the pad of his thumb over his cheek where there’s a lone tear. Then he’ll say, “I love you Stiles Stilinski” with so much barely contained love and passion, and a desire to protect. Then they’ll give each other a chaste kiss, this is a moment for love, not fierce devotion. And Derek will nudge Stiles so that the teen’s bare back is lined up with his also bare chest and Derek will hold him comfortably tight breathing in Stiles’ scent and pressing his lips gently to the back of Stiles’ neck. And they would fall asleep like that, all curled up, Derek protecting Stiles from the world. His embrace a promise to the young man in his arms. 

 

But that’s not how life works and Stiles points to a pair of sweatpants lying on his chair and asks for them. Derek stands up and whatever it was that they had going on was lost. What if all of this is lost?

“Is this going to be like the Breakfast Club?”

Derek hands over the pants and sits on the bed now too, “The Breakfast Club?”

“Oh please tell me you’ve seen the Breakfast Club.”

“Yeah, a long time ago with...with Laura.”

“I’m just thinking is this all going to go away tomorrow when I wake up? Like are you going to regret this?” He gestures to the space between them, “Because I’m feeling like you think that this was all a mistake and I’m going to wake up and come to the loft and you’re going to be all cold and not talking to me anymore and it’s going to be really awkward and we’re just going to ignore everything that happened tonight and I’ll probably cry and Jackson will make fun of me, and….I don’t want this to be a mistake.” Stiles doesn’t even recognize what he’s doing but when a firm hand grabs his and pulls it away from his wrist he realizes that he was scratching again. 

_ Way to go, you’re no better than a cat’s scratching post. _

“No, that’s not going to happen. _This”_ He point to them, “Is not a mistake, and I don’t want you to think that it ever was or will be. And if I remember correctly, at the end of the movie there are two couples right?” Derek gives him a small smile. 

“Yeah they do.” In a move of courage Stiles scooches closer to Derek and leans his head on Derek’s shoulder and smiles too when Derek’s arm immediately snakes around his back, resting nice and warm on his side. 

The voices aren’t silent, but they’re quieter, it’s nice. They stay quiet while they lay on their backs on his bed, Stiles’ body pressed up against Derek’s from chest to knee. They lay like that until Derek informs him that his dad is home, and moments later the headlights flash past his window and then he hears the door of the cruiser being shut. Stiles gets anxious, energy thrumming in his body and he swears that his heart starts beating faster. 

“What are we supposed to do now? I mean like I’m 18 and you’re what 22?”

Derek is standing near his window, putting his leather jacket back on. “I’m actually 21, turning 22 in November.”

“Okay, but still, what are we supposed to be, like it feels weird to say dating or anything close to that but what else am I supposed to say? God, I’m just freaking nervous, what if this isn’t right, I’m super needy and mental and what if you want someone better? I mean like this doesn’t have to be anything if you don’t want it to be..”

Derek crosses his room so he’s standing right next to Stiles and wow he smells good. How didn’t I notice that before? Like the forest,  it’s nice.

“We’ll take this slow so we’re on the same page, and Stiles I don’t want anyone else. I want to do this with you, I want to help you” Derek makes Stiles look him in the eyes, “and not because I pity you, because I care about you. So let’s take this at your pace, it doesn’t need a label or anything. It can just be what you want it to be.”

_ There’s a trick here somewhere, he isn’t serious, he doesn’t care about you.  _

“I need to go before your dad comes upstairs, eat something for dinner okay?”

 

Stiles watches as Derek moves in and hugs him, warm, strong and steady. Then he gives a smile and disappears out of the window just as his dad shouts upstairs, “Stiles? I’m home.”

Stiles moves from the window frame after he closes it behind Derek, “In my room dad.”

He opens his door and walks downstairs to come face to face with his dad who is looking exhausted and worried. “Stiles can you promise me something?”

“Well getting to the tough questions huh, it’s nice to see you too dad.” Stiles jokes and regrets it, his dad just looks even more tired. “Um yeah, sorry, what is it?”

“Please be careful, don’t go out by yourself anymore, at least take Scott with you.” The sheriff runs a hand over his face and drapes his jacket over the dining room chair. “There’s three people reported missing, the same signs of struggle and no tracks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup the wendigos strike again. What's the pack going to do, and more importantly, what is Stiles going to do with everything that's happened?!?! I love every last one of you for all of the support you have given me, it means the world to me thank you! There's going to be more plot introduced in the next chapters! Yay! Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading still!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone for understanding and encouraging me to feel better. It’s been I want to say 40ish day since I posted the chapter that wasn’t a chapter and I’ve received nothing but love and support and I cannot tell you how much that means to me! So thank you for sticking by my side while I got my feet under me again and patiently waiting for an update! So without further ado, here’s chapter 17! And I did get rid of the chapter titles, I thought they were just way too cheesy and weird :)

_ You cannot call Derek he literally left twelve minutes ago. _

This is important!

_ And so is not screwing this up! Do you really want to be the needy damsel in distress that can’t do anything for themselves? _

Okay, then text him later. 

Three freaking people are dead! This is not a time for mental debate!

_ Wait for him to text you _

What if he doesn’t? Oh god what if he doesn’t? What if he realizes that this is a mistake and he doesn’t talk to you ever again?

_ Well it would be in his best interest. Just take a step back and look at the situation: amazing hot alpha werewolf, depressed mental teenager with a black hole of a heart and a knack for skin slicing. Yeah, the perfect match. _

Shut up!

_ You’re so cute. _

Stiles is pacing in his room, what the hell is he supposed to do!? He needs to tell Derek, but he can’t make himself pick up the phone and text his...boyfriend. Less than fifteen minutes ago they were just two not so normal people and now they’re supposed to be not normal people who’re together. Does dating start just like that?

It did with Lydia, the first thing he did was text Scott,  _ ‘Ahead of schedule, four years ahead! Lydia freakin Martin Scotty!!!” _ But is Derek like Lydia? Will he seem too obsessive or clingy if he starts calling him boyfriend his boyfriend right off the bat? He settles and promises to deal with that later. Back on track Stilinski, three people missing. Tell Derek. 

By the time he comes out of his head it’s been another five minutes and he’s panicking. Not bad enough for a panic attack but enough to be unsettling and making him choppy in his actions.

So instead he texts Scott, then Isaac, and Erica and Boyd until everyone one his werewolf contacts list has been sent a message. 

He instantly regrets it, what if they don’t know? What if he’s giving them new information and they try and go after them tonight? It’s too dark, there’s clouds and a wind which will make it harder for them to hear. There’s major alarms going off inside his head, he could have just made all of this worse. 

_ Wouldn’t be your first time that you’ve screwed up things that were just fine on their own! _

Now is not the time for an inner battle but in stressful situations he can’t help it, it just happens. It’s not like he wants to shut down and scream at himself inside his head but he’s weaker when he’s stressed and sometimes everything just is too much. Stiles’ eyes are damp but he is  _ not _ going to cry, trying to give himself a small hope that he can control at least some aspect of his emotions.

The minutes tick but frustratingly slow as nobody responds to his messages. There’s no little text bubbles that pop up, or even a read script at the bottom of his screen. There’s no way that it’s just a coincidence. He tries calling everyone and hangs up the second he gets the automated voice mail recording and calls the next number on his list. Nothing. He throws his phone onto his bed and runs his hands through his hair, nails scraping his scalp and fingers pulling on the roots. 

Stiles is running laps in his own head trying to make a plan with the least probability of going wrong. And at the moment, none of the options end very well. He spins his computer chair around violently and stops it, bringing his open hands down against the cloth covered metal and cushioning. The palms of his hand feel like they’re on fire for a second before the pain washes away.

He opens his window and tosses his baseball bat outside so it lands on the grass. He grabs his sneakers and hoodie. His feet pad loudly on the steps as he comes into the kitchen, his dad sitting on the couch watching the game. 

_ Now just get outside and you’re home free.  _

He stops short when his dad turns around, a tired look on his aging face. 

“Going somewhere?”

Improv time. “Yeah! It’s ten dollar galactic bowling night at the lanes. Scott just texted, I’m going to pick him and Isaac up and meet everyone else there.” Smooth as silk. “We’re grabbing food first ‘cus the lanes open at 10.”

His dad looks at him for a long time and he starts to bounce on his feet as he waits for the verdict. 

“Stiles..with everything that’s going on” 

_ Shit he’s not going to let you go. You need to go help them! They’re going to get hurt because of you! This is all your fault! _

“It’ll be fine, we’re not doing anything we shouldn’t be.”

His dad raises an eyebrow, “I hope so and I was going to say that I find it hard to believe that you’re going to eat out with your friends.” His stomach just dropped to the bottom of the ocean. And he knows what’s coming. “I want you to eat dinner here. You don’t get to just sneak out of here son, I wasn’t born yesterday.” His dad keeps looking at him with a sharp edge of authority, he’s not going to be able to change his dad’s mind. 

_ Oh for fuck’s sake!?! Now you’re going to eat too? _

“Dad it’s fine I promise that I’ll eat with them, you can have Scott tell you all about it but I need to go now! They’re waiting for me to pick them up!”

“Stiles it’s only what..it’s only 8:15, you don’t need over an hour and a half to eat pizza.”

Okay, obviously bouncing now and his fingers twitch with nothing to hold onto. “I promise dad, I’ll eat something. It’s no big deal, can I please go now?” Panic is rising and he needs to do something, he needs to get out. 

‘Stiles you said this wasn’t a big deal, that you’re not one of those crazy anorexic people, now prove it!”

_ Crazy anorexic person, add that to the collection _

“I don’t have to eat in front of you, because we both know that you’ll ask Scott and he’ll tell you! You have your own personal extra set of eyes who is conveniently my best friend!” Stiles is angry and he doesn’t really care that he’s being seriously rude to his father. But then rude is relative anyways so it doesn’t linger in his mind. 

He turns his body away from his dad and starts to walk towards the door, ignoring the hurt that wasn’t in his heart a moment ago. At least he knows what his dad is really thinking. But he doesn’t get more than three steps before an angry voice cuts through the tense silence, “Sit down Stiles and eat something or I’m calling the nutritionist right now and you’ll have appointments starting next week!”

Nutritionist? Fuck. “Dad!” 

“I mean it Stiles! Sit your ass down and eat something!”

_ FUCK Fuckity Fuck Fucking Fuck _

He doesn’t have a choice. For several long moments he seriously considers leaving his friends so he doesn’t have to eat. To knowingly put food in his huge stomach of his own choice. Nobody told him about this part of not eating though, when you reach the point that you sacrifice your life for a calorie count. He thinks about the leftovers in the fridge and how good he’ll feel if he doesn’t eat, how empty and light he’ll be. Stiles thinks about leaving his friends in danger so he doesn’t have to wrap his lips around food and it’s a sharp reminder of how his priorities have changed. 

Stiles makes it obvious in his anger as he loudly pulls out a chair from the dinner table and walks over to the fridge, grabbing the leftovers of a chicken caesar wrap and letting the door slam closed behind him. This is  _ not  _ the time.

The wrap is one of the worst things he’s ever eaten, the time and pressure along with the calories he can feel settling on his stomach make him anxious. He drinks two glasses of water with the mandatory food before he stands up, making the chair skid on the tiles as it’s roughly shoved back. He practically throws his plate and glass into the sink before turning to his dad who’s been watching the whole scene. 

He looks concerned, like he’s having an internal war but he sighs and tell Stiles, “Okay...have a good time.” 

He’s already shutting the door he hears his dad shout, “Be safe Stiles!” His sneakers skid on the dewy grass as he runs and picks up his baseball bat. 

He knows that his dad thinks that he’s doing the right thing, trying to help but can’t he just give up already?

He turns the key in the ignition and switches the headlights onto high before tearing out of the driveway and onto the street heading out of town. 

He drives straight to the loft in a misguided hope that they are all still there and this is some sick joke that they’re playing, or that they’ve all gotten tired of him and just aren’t answering him anymore. But minutes later when he drives into the empty, barely lit lot his already cracked hopes shatter. He turns the jeep around so fast it skids on the damp parking lot before getting traction and pulling out onto the main road headed out of town. 

Speeding is a necessity at this point and he hopes that the officers aren’t at one of their posts along the highway. Trees pass by in the darkness as he races to get there in time, to save his friends. It feels like the longest fifteen minutes of his life as he pushes the jeep to go faster. Stiles can feel as the food sits in his stomach and it angers him and makes him extremely depressed at the same time. He turns the last few corners before seeing the sign for the parking lot and he sighs out of relief, he’s made it. But when it comes into view his stomach drops. 

_ You’re too late _

_ They’re all going to get hurt because of you. You and your fatass are too late.  _

He looks around desperately in the barely view able with the low light. Derek’s camaro and Allison’s and Boyd’s cars are all in the dirt packed lot, out of view from the road. And there’s no one around. He is. He’s too late. Stiles isn’t scared anymore, he’s terrified. 

He hops out of the beaten up old jeep, feet hitting cold, firm ground and takes off running through the preserve, baseball bat in hand. The branches that snag his sweatshirt and dirt that gets in his shoes go unnoticed as he desperately looks for signs of his pack. 

_ You’ve really fucked it up this time Stilinski.  _

Stiles is stuck between calling out and possibly giving away his position, and the chance of finding his friends. Nerves win over and he stays quiet, the only sound is the crunching of leaves and twigs as he tries to make his way through the woods. 

_ If they don’t hate you they would have included you, you’re too weak to go fighting the freak-ass supernatural stuff that’s around here. _

His eye’s can’t adjust because of the cloud cover and even though it’s almost near a full moon, the sky is providing no light. Stiles runs until he’s actually out of breath and a little dizzy. Where are they? His footsteps get smaller and eventually he has to stop and lean on a nearby tree, baseball bat resting on the ground as he centers himself again. When he’s gotten his breath back again he pushes off and starts jogging. They have to be here somewhere. 

The voices are at a standoff stuck between yelling and taunting him, and complete and utter silence. 

He finds himself feeling even more uneasy as he keeps going without finding a sign of anyone or anything. There’s one thing that he’s learned after years of being around werewolves, and it’s that if you think someone is there, they are. He slows down and looks around, nothing that he can see, but that doesn’t mean a whole lot of anything right now. He looks at his phone and gets what he expected, no new messages. 

Stiles turns his flashlight on because he’s getting squat trying to look in the dark, it’ll give his location away, but anything out here can either see or smell him regardless of a light bulb. He looks around and it’s out of the corner of his eye that he sees something flash in the trees. 

His heart rate instantly goes through the roof and he spins around, baseball bat clenched tightly in his other hand. 

It’s the same feeling that he got when we went running during lunch, now it just happens to be a thousand times more terrifying. He’s out here without knowing where his pack is,  _ does he have the right to still call them his pack? _ and he starts to realize just how bad things could get.  He spins in a circle trying to locate what he has the gut feeling is the wendigo. 

When he finishes his second circle he whips around to find the scariest fucking face yet because it’s human, and it’s also very clearly not human. He stumbles back and drops his phone, but he doesn’t get to move away before there’s an unnaturally pale hand grabbing the front of his sweatshirt, yanking him forward, off balance he’s thrown into a tree, his stomach landing flat against the bark, knocking the wind out of his lungs and scratching the entire left side of his face.

Stiles takes a second to get his breath back before he’s up on his feet again, swinging his body in a circle trying to locate the monster that’s out of sight. Then he’s pushed again, this time he keeps his balanced and swings at his attacker, happy when his bat makes solid contact with the thing. 

It turns and gives him a smile, showing its sharp teeth and the gash on its forehead that’s bleeding. Stiles goes to swing again but this time it grabs the bat and pulls. He scrambles to keep the weapon in his hand but eventually the force is too strong and it slides from his sweaty palms. 

His trusty bat is thrown away from a manageable distance and he’s on his own. When the wendigo settles down Stiles is startled to that he recognizes the person. Sean Hansen, graduated from Beacon Hills last year and never went to college. 

Apparently his revelation shows. “There you go Stilinski, took you longer than I expected, you’re the detective of your group aren’t you?” Sean chuckles and moves forward, pushing Stiles further away from his bat and the dim glow of his phone that’s somewhere in the leaves. 

“You don’t have to do this, whatever you want we can get it for you. Besides the eating humans part, mostly anything you want. Or your family too, what they want works too.” He’s trying to put out his best cocky appearance, show that he’s not scared when on the inside he would do anything to be at home under his blankets with his bat leaning against his bed frame. 

“That’s the thing, we don’t want anything, we just want to live our lives without snoopy little shits like you coming in and ruining everything!” Sean sneers at him and raises his voice. Stiles flinches and he catches it. “Yeah all you do is fuck things up Stiles, where do you think your pack is now? Because I can assure you one thing, it’s that they’re not here and that’s your fault too! You make messes and break things and ruin people Stiles!” 

Stiles is blinking furiously and if it wasn’t for the adrenaline he would probably be a disaster on the ground, it’s a miracle that he’s holding it together. 

“You do know why this is happening don’t you?” Stiles looks him in the eyes and is confused. 

“Because you’re all fucking psycho monsters?” He talks back loudly, hoping for whatever it’s worth that someone will hear him. 

“Wrong again Stilinski. Here’s a clue, it’s you.” Stiles stands stock still and tries to understand. 

“So now you killing people is my fault? Pretty sure that’s not exactly how it goes there roid-head.” He is trying to circle his way back around to where his things are but Sean catches on and moves him in the other direction but doesn’t say anything else.

“Hey what the fuck does that mean?! I’m not the one going around killing people and eating them! That’s not my fault!”

Sean doesn’t give a reply but looks up into the trees and cocks his head to the side like he’s listening. He smiles with his unnatural teeth and the blood from his cut on his forehead is still dripping and it’s making Stiles feel weak. 

“You can’t blame me for-” Stiles is cut off mid exclamation as Sean starts talking. 

“Now our little chat was lovely Stiles but I’ve gonna head out, and there’s two things. One, that necklace was very nice we cashed it the other day, it’s going towards my new phone. Two...that lady that you were so fond of, she screamed the loudest.” His smile grows even wider and more sickly when he sees Stiles go stock still, his face draining of all blood. Sean laughs and starts to walk away, his back turned but Stiles can’t make himself move just yet. 

He turns back around and points to Stiles’ left, “your shitty old jeep is about two and a half miles that way, you really booked it out here fatty. I’ll let your wolves know where you are.” With that he tips his chin up with his eyes pure white and releases the worst noise Stiles has ever heard an animal make, it’s a mix between a scream and a howl and it’s loud and terrifying. “I’ll see you later pretty boy” He says with a smirk

Stiles looks around for a split second and when he looks back to see Sean he’s left with branches rustling and a dark shadow moving up a tree trunk. He stands for another minute before he starts to cry, fuck! Why can’t he not cry for fucking once? But he almost doesn’t care because those words were like knives carving into his skin. 

And here’s the important thing, he doesn’t mind when he’s the one in charge of inflicting pain on himself, that he can control. It’s the pain that other people cause him, those words that might as well have been sharpened knives. He feels so lost because other people hurt him and he doesn’t have a say in that. His brain is on replay, cycling those ideas over in his head. 

Your fault

Necklace

Martha

Your fault

Necklace

Martha

Your fault

Necklace

Martha 

Your fault

Necklace

Martha

Somehow he manages to pick up phone and find his bat before he stands still and cries. He doesn’t care if anyone hears because honestly they don’t give a fuck about him, he’s not strong enough to run with the wolves. His body feels empty, like he’s just a thought controlling a giant suit. If he was cold before, now he’s freezing. Logically he knows that it’s only dropped a few degrees and he’s cold because all of his sweat is chilling on his body. Stiles can feel the physical and emotional shut-down that’s going to eventually happen and just hopes that he can keep going until he gets to his jeep and finds everyone. And then he’s going the fuck to sleep and staying there until his dad makes him get up.  

He almost falls several times because he can’t see where he’s going through his tears or the small amount of light his flashlight provides. Stiles couldn’t have made it more than a quarter of a mile before there was the crunching of leaves and he knew that they had found him. The concerned voices were immediately next to his ears and there were two blurry faces in his line of sight. “Stiles? Stiles stop! Are you okay? Oh my god your face!”

He’s too ashamed to stop walking and too scared to talk so the person next to him keeps his pace trying to get his attention. As much relief as he feels he’s panicking too. Large warm hands wrap around his shoulders and hold him in place, keeping him still so Boyd can get in front of him and look at him. Scott tilts Stiles’ chin up just a little bit but it’s enough to force eye contact.

Whatever he sees makes him flinch and he starts running his hands over his body checking for injuries, “Stiles what happened?! Are you okay, did they hurt you? What did they do?” His normally upbeat and carefree voice is full of concern and some fright and Stiles can’t feel anything but terrible. 

_ People are dying and it’s your fault. Scaring the fuck out of Scott. Can’t even talk. Worthless fuck. Fuck things up. Martha died. Sean sold the necklace. Bad, BAD  _ **_BAD._ **

Then Stiles is suddenly so weak that Boyd isn’t able to fully catch him as his legs give out but rather just tries to guide him to the ground. Moments later he’s back on his feet, supported on either side by Boyd and Isaac, who’s appeared too.

“Stiles, come on I need you to tell me what happened. What happened? Are you okay!? Stiles!” 

Then space is made as the wolves let go when they passes Stiles into even larger arms, Derek. His hands touch his chest where there is most definitely going to be a hell of a lot of bruising and when Stiles hisses Derek rolls up the hem of his shirt and immediately pulls his pain. And honestly Stiles is too wrecked to even care.  

Stiles doesn’t stop the body shaking sobs that are coming from his lips and he doesn’t know how long they stay like that for. He does barely recognize when the rest of the pack shows up, their concerned voices mushing together in his ears over the pounding on his own blood. The pack stays close and he starts to feel embarrassed when he comes to a little bit more. Stiles can feel himself being held by Derek and knows how he probably looks, clinging onto the alpha. 

The people take a couple of steps back and that helps. Derek stands up and gets ready to swing him up into his arms but Stiles doesn’t let him. 

_ Can’t even be trusted to walk Worthless. Bad.  _

Saying the first thing since they found him Stiles yells at Derek with a stronger voice than he thought he was capable of, “No, No no no! Derek! Put me down! Derek put me down!” As he edges towards hysteria again Derek sets him on his feet and catches him before he falls again, but doesn’t try to pick him up. Stiles starts to walk away, but there’s a hand on his elbow pulling him towards the other direction and he looks up coming face to face with Scott. His friend looks nothing other than worried but Stiles can’t help but feel that he’s mad at him. 

_ They had to come and save your ass, can’t walk in the right freaking direction, fucked up mental, depressed, cutter freak _

He drops his gaze and starts walking, the pack following hesitantly behind Derek and Scott. At some point he is aware that he can see one of the trails in the woods and realizes that they’re almost back to the parking lot. Derek’s hand is a steady presence on the small of his back and it does help to calm him down, just a small reassurance that Derek is right next to him. 

He can tell when Scott drops back with the rest of his friends and hears them talk quietly. His cheeks burn with shame and embarrassment because he knows that they’re talking about him. His mind doesn’t miss a beat and he starts beating himself up, yelling at himself so effectively that he can’t even hear what’s being said in his own head. 

Words Stiles can handle, he has been for years, given not in a healthy way, but he deals. But visions are a different thing altogether, the times when you can see things replay inside your mind and all you can do is sit there and watch the pain unfold in front of your eyes all over again. He can see Sean’s smirk and hear his voice repeating, feel the leaves and branches under his hands and feet. He relives the horror and heartbreak anew, walking through the dark forest, hoping that by some miracle he’ll disappear and never get back to his jeep. 

Unfortunately he doesn’t vanish and by walking one foot in front of another he makes it back to the cars and when he gets there he doesn’t know what to do. He stands still and lets everyone else decide what’s going to happen, it’s easier that way. A cowardly way out but very effective. Derek moves from his side and then Boyd is next to him again. The other teen doesn’t say anything and Stiles is extremely grateful for his friend’s selective talking. When he fumbles for his car keys he expects to have to move his bat from one hand to another, but finds his hands empty. It’s really just the cherry on top and just as soon as he’d stopped being so emotional there are more tears cascading down his cheeks. The pack looks to Derek for an explanation but he doesn’t know either. 

“It’s my bat! I lost my fucking bat!” he quietly yells, his voice finally going hoarse. “I need my bat!” Stiles starts to walk away from his friends and back towards the woods, but then there’s a hand with red nails wrapping itself firmly around his wrist. He looks up and Erica gives him a small, sad smile and in her other hand shows him his bat, safe and sound. 

“I picked it up. It’s all taken care of Batman.” She speaks softly, personally, and it makes him realize that as much as Erica can be a pain in the ass, she’s also a really good friend too. 

“Thanks” he mumbles and turns towards everybody who are looking at him like he’s broken. And as much as he hates it, the cat’s out of the bag so Stiles leans into Derek’s side and wraps his heavy arms around Derek’s torso and after a fraction of a heartbeat there’s warm arms wrapped around his own body. He leans into the embrace and the comfort of knowing that someone knows the extent of how much he’s suffering right now. His skin feels tight and there’s one craving, scratch that, that  _ necessity _ , that involves a certain razor blade in his near future. His throat gets this numb feeling and he doubles over in stomach pain and suddenly the caesar wrap is all over his sneakers and the ground by his feet. 

He looks down in disgust at himself but all Derek does is nudges him to nudge his shoes off, and when he does that his boyfriend,  _ boyfriend _ , pulls his socks off and carefully lifts him up just enough so that he can be put on the clean, not-vomit covered ground. Everything else is a big blur, there’s people talking all around him, hands on his face and side which he flinches away from. His pack moves all around him, the only thing keeping him grounded are Derek’s arms that are unrelentingly holding onto him tightly. 

The next thing that happens is when they all shuffle around and get into their respective cars with some decision of spending the night at the loft and not going to school tomorrow. People pile into vehicles and when Derek asks for his keys he willingly gives them to Scott to drive his baby back. Body drives the camaro and Derek sits with him in the back. The silence is both fantastic and terrible. It’s nice to not have extra stimuli, but the lack of it leaves him alone to his thoughts. He still isn’t talking but Derek’s given him his coat and he’s leaning against the wolf’s warm broad chest, laying sideways on the backseat, not giving a damn about seat belts. 

“My dad thinks we’re bowling.”

Derek huffs and runs his hands through Stiles’ hair. “Scott’s going to take care of that. Don’t worry about it, we’ll go back to the loft and then I’ll take you home.” 

He sighs, it’s nice having things be taken care of for him especially when he’s so overwhelmed. But in the same instant his brain is always a battlefield that he’s so tired of fighting. His strength quickly dissolves and the voices are back. But this time they aren’t saying anything, just a constant loud negative thought that clouds everything else. 

Stiles zones out, looking at the sky which has helpfully just lost its cloud cover. The drive to the loft is long and he’s sore but eventually Derek helps him out of the car and they make it inside. Isaac heads towards the kitchen and Lydia and Allison start pulling blankets out from a chest against the back wall. Boyd goes and turns the thermostat up and Scott grabs the first aid kit. He is embarrassed when he realizes that he’s the only one who’s freezing and the only one who needs medical attention. 

Soon enough everyone is sitting down with hot chocolate, Stiles with green tea, because 1) calories and 2) he couldn’t keep anything else down even if he wanted to. Their normally large circle is small and the tv is just background noise and everyone talks, avoiding the elephant in the room. 

_ It’s  _

_     All _

_          Your _

_                Fault _

_ She screamed the loudest _

_ Sold the necklace _

_ Pretty boy _

_ Fucked everything up _

_ Always in the way _

_ Bad Bad BAD _

_ Fat _

_ Ugly _

_ Worthless _

He keeps staring off out the huge window until Derek nudges him gently with his elbow. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“You mean tell everyone what happened?”

“Not unless you want to.” But he knows the real answer, everyone will end up knowing sooner rather than later. 

“Yeah, sure” he whispers to himself. When he looks up there are six sets of eyes on him.  “Do you guys remember Sean Hansen? Um...he graduated last year, pretty shitty person if we’re being honest. He...it-” 

_ Can’t even make a full sentence, you fucking invalid _

“Um...Sean’s a wendigo, as a new fact and my dad had just told me about the other people and I couldn’t get a hold of you guys, I tied all of you texting and calling and all I got was voicemail and I got really on edge, because they’re killer wendigos out there and everything so I drove here but you guys weren’t here so I went to the reserve because that was the logical spot and all of your cars were there but you guys weren’t and still hadn’t answered and I wasn’t going to just sit there so I took off, and it wasn’t the greatest plan, but it’s what I had and then he was there and it took me a minute to realize who it was but Sean is definitely the wendigo and he said that he still has his family, and my dad said that there’s three more people missing. Um, he jumped me and that’s when this happened, like my face and everything, and I hit him with my bat and everything, but he’s a freaking monster so it did shit and he just started talking about how it was my fault that everyone’s dying and that they sold the necklace and that she screamed the loudest and he was mocking me the entire time like I was just his toy and he told me I was a fucking  _ pretty boy  _ and that he’ll see me again and this is all of my fault but I don’t know what I did, I don’t know what I could’ve done, how is this my fault?! And then I started walking and he just laughed at me and then he make the worst sound and I started walking back to the cars and then you were there and I fucked everything up and I’m supposed to be smart, because that’s all I’m good for because I’m not fast or strong or some freak thing with super powers I’m just me and I can’t even be good at being myself, and this is my fault-and-and-I puked everywhere on my shoes-I fucked everything up-” 

He can’t breathe right and his chest hurts with the big gasps of air his lungs are trying to take in but all of this is so important and it hurts so much and he’s confused and scared and he doesn’t know what to do because he can’t cut at the loft let alone with five werewolves in a ten foot radius. 

As he struggles to gain some form of control over himself Derek’s rubbing circles into his back and from the lack of ache and hurt, presumably taking his pain too. His friends all look around, avoiding his gaze but Lydia is the first one to speak to him with a strong tone. 

“You know that this isn’t your fault Stiles, he’s messing with your head. This isn’t your fault of any of ours either, it’s their fault that doing what they’re doing.”

He nods his head because that’s what you’re supposed to do in this type of situation, but he can’t let go of the feeling of guilt and responsibility that he has now. The rest of them chime in supporting Lydia saying that it’s not his fault, but it doesn’t get any traction and he lets it go, he knows that somehow this is his fault. But Stiles looks at Lydia and his friends and gives a sad small smile, a lie that says he’s okay and they drop it. 

They talk about what happened and he contributes when there’s something that he can answer, but other than that he stays quiet for the rest of the night until it turns into the first hours of the morning. Stiles only says goodbye as he and Derek stand up to go back to his house. 

When they’re outside it dawns on Stiles that Derek doesn’t have a way home again. 

“Someone else needs to come too…”

When Derek looks at him his mouth twitches up into the smallest fragment of a sad smile. “I was going to spend the night with you tonight. Unless you can promise me that you’re going to be okay.”

He knows that it’s a trap but he tries anyways, “I’ll be fine. Promise.” There’s no way that he’s going to willingly throw away his one chance of privacy. 

Derek doesn’t even dignify that with an answer, he just looks at him from the corner of his eye as he takes the keys and and walks around to the driver’s side of the jeep. 

The ride home is quiet with the exception of the music playing softly in the background. When the jeep pulls into his driveway and Derek turns out the headlights Stiles remembers his face, how is he supposed to explain that to his dad?

Derek turns his head so they they’re looking at each other, “I’ll wait in the car, open your window when it’s okay for me to come in.”

Stiles nods his head and opens his door, but Derek nudges his face closer and kisses his forehead. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that and despite their evening and what’s happened it’s like a small spark in his chest. 

When he walks in there’s another game on the tv and his dad’s chair is empty but he doesn’t miss the empty glass on the end table and the open liquor cabinet in the kitchen. 

_ You’re making him drink again _

_ Add it to the ever growing list of things you’ve fucked up in the last 24 hours _

The only plus side is that his dad’s keys are still on the table and his shoes where they were when he left, so at least he didn’t go out and buy more. 

He walks upstairs and goes straight to his room and drops his bat and takes off his sweatshirt before using the bathroom. 

_ Just one more time, to be sure _

_ Because you won’t be able to later _

_ Pee, scale, mirror, cut _

_ Get Derek _

Maybe not cut then, he’ll be pissed

_ What matters more, a temporary boyfriend who’ll probably leave by the end of next week or getting what you deserve for hurting everyone? _

Pee, scale, mirror, cut, Derek

Order, that’s what’s important, a list of things that can be done, something that gives him some control. 

The first three go quickly, the scale never tells him something that he likes but it’s okay, he’s lost another half of a pound. But still a long way to go. 

When he walks to go back to his room he cracks open his dad’s door and sees his dad passed out on his bed, on top of the covers with all of his clothes still on. Apparently he had more than Stiles thought. He slips into his dad’s room and turns on the dim table light before taking his socks and sweater off, which was slightly hard to do. He gets his dad awake enough to slip underneath the covers and into a comfortable position. He gently closes the door and runs downstairs to turn off the lights and lock the door, turn the tv off and put his dad’s glass in the sink. 

_ Cut _

It’s been too long, Derek’s going to know

_ Did I fucking stutter? _

Stiles walks back upstairs and passes his room on his way to the bathroom. The cold white tile on the bathroom has always felt so clinical, but the arm that snakes around his upper arm is the opposite. 

_ Great _

At the same moment as he’s dying on the inside, knowing that he can’t show his pain, he can’t make himself pay for everything that he’s done wrong, he’s so relieved. So relieved that Derek’s there, stopping him from taking his pencil sharpener blade to his very sore legs because it’s hard to do that to yourself. He doesn’t turn around for a moment, part of him trying to convince the other part to make a break for the bathroom. 

The warm hand tugs on his arm and he follows with only a small amount of resistance. 

_ You fucker, next time it’s going to be bad _

Stiles walks into his room and shuts and locks his door before sitting on the edge of his bed, not making eye contact. He doesn’t really know what to feel, so shutting down his emotions is easier. Derek doesn’t move from his spot near his dresser for a long minute, but then he drapes his jacket over Stiles’ desk chair and moves to the side opposite of Stiles and crawls on the bed until he’s resting against the headboard, leaving a welcoming open spot next to him. 

Moving before he gives himself a chance to reject the invitation he shucks his plaid shirt which leaves him in his white undershirt and crawls up against Derek, his head fitting snugly against the junction of Derek’s shoulder and neck, but keeping his body weight off of him. 

“What are you thinking about?”

Now how the hell is he supposed to answer that?  _ Oh I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about the extra blades I have and the scale on the tile floor, a little about my dad drinking because of me. It’s crossed my mind that you’re going to leave me when you see me for what I really am, that Scott’s already replaced me, my side hurts like a motherfucker, my fat is touching your abs of stone, you’re here with me instead of your pack. I’m thinking that I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep going. I’m tired and I want to quit, I want to tell you everything that I’m thinking right now but I can’t because it’ll freak you out. I’m thinking that I want to tell you everything anyways so I’m not the only one who knows how I’m really feeling.  _

Instead he says nothing, because there isn’t a way to express what he’s thinking or feeling, well, nothing that he’s supposed to do anyways. He shrugs his shoulders and tries to curl into himself more. He’s pretty sure that he doesn’t know how to be a normal boyfriend. Because honestly, none of this is normal, even if you take out the werewolves and all of the supernatural stuff too. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

_ Oh  _ **_hell_ ** _ no _

“No”

“Maybe later?” It’s a gentle question but he knows that Derek’s worried.

“Yeah, maybe later” He knows that he’s not going to talk about it unless it’s absolutely necessary or he has a sudden change of heart. 

As he lies there things start to feel better, just having a person who he’s had physical contact with feels amazing. It’s girly and feelingy stuff but damn it, it feels good to pass up. The warmth coming from the body next to him is phenomenal compared to his own lack of body heat. Now if he was going to be really sappy, which has evolved in the past 24 hours, he would say that he really likes Derek and is happy that they’re giving this a chance. 

But he’s too scared to say the wrong thing, so he doesn’t say anything. Which then leads to silence which makes him feel weird, which makes him want to talk, but he’s too scared to. It’s a never-freaking-ending cycle. 

Then Derek’s body is moving , turning over and brushing his side where he minutely backs himself away from Derek. The questions are buzzing around in his head and he hasn’t always been the greatest of keeping his mouth shut, so he’s only mildly surprised but very upset when words start forming on his lips. “Is this okay?” he asks with a quiet voice, afraid that his words could crumble everything he’s just gotten. “Because I…I don’t know what to do and I don’t want to mess this up…”

Then the wolf fully shifts his body so he’s lying facing Stiles. “This is good, this is perfect Stiles. You won’t mess us up either and we’ll figure everything out. I’ve waited too long for this to just give up before we’ve even started.”

Waited too long…... _ what? _

Derek huffs at the expression that must be on his face because he runs his hand over Stiles’ hair and looks at him with nothing short of adoration. “Yeah, about a year and a half now. For being the Sherlock of the pack it’s taken you awhile.” The soft press of lips against his own chapped ones feels like utter bliss. “So we’re going to take at our own pace and I’m going to tell you everyday that you’re not alone.” 

“Have you always been this mushy? Do you just hide it behind a big bad wolf mask?” Stiles actually smiles, hearing that he’s wanted, and has been for a while now is just happiness. Someone else’s validation weighs more than his own and it feels good to hear Derek say those things.

“Boyd and Lydia are the only ones who knew before tonight, honest to god the rest of them are too blind to see past their owns noses most of the time. We still might have to spell it out for Isaac and Scott.”

It seems like there’s a lot of first times happening today and he knows that he’s probably leaning towards the manic side of the scale but fuck it, it feels good to not be alone right now. It’s only when Derek yawns that he realizes how absolutely freaking exhausted he is. Stiles sits up and swings his legs over the side of his bed, “I’ll be back in just a second.” And when Derek looks at him with skepticalness he gives him a reassuring small smile, “I’ll be okay” and that isn’t a lie. 

He uses the bathroom and flushes his pills, brushes his teeth and just as he’s about to open the door he stops. Because for fucks sake the scale is right there he thinks, and if anyone tells you that an eating disorder isn’t an addiction, they can shove it up their asses. 

The scale is his equivalent of judgement day and he cringes as he steps on it but looks anyways. Down a tenth of a pound, water weight. He pinches his stomach a few times, hissing as his nails dig into his already bruised abdomen. When he’s in his room he shuts and locks the door again, the last thing he needs is his dad seeing Derek Hale in his son’s bed at two o’clock in the morning. Or any hour for that matter. 

Derek’s taken off his shoes and socks and has changed into sweatpants, when did that happen? Stiles turns away from his mirror and the lingering eyes to change his shirt and put on pajama pants. He hears the small sigh when his legs are view able, and yeah it’s disgusting, he knows. It drops his mood almost immediately, something his therapist tried to teach him, monitor your happiness and sadness, because the higher you are, the harder you eventually fall. 

He turns off his ceiling light and walks over to his bed, suddenly feeling extremely nervous.

_ Man up, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? _

But Derek looks inviting and warm and  _ safe  _ so he climbs under the sheets and silently thanks his guardian angel that Derek doesn’t put his arm around him or drape it over his shoulder or onto his stomach. It’s awkward at first but then he’s too tired to care anymore, and as he finally drifts off he leans back into Derek’s warm chest and just thinks about how right it feels. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, comments and kudos mean the world to me on here! Another giant thank you to everyone who waited out the delayed chapter and let me know I wasn't alone!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time just goes on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I have no excuse for not writing. First semester is over though and I'm on break so that's good. Super long wait, I know, and I wanted to have it posted by Christmas but the chapter didn't feel completed enough so I kept working on it and I'm happy how it ended up.

_ Stiles looks around for his family and friends but can’t see any of them. All he can see is the blistering sun overhead, the scoreboard, the field, and the bleachers filled with thousands of fans. ‘They’re here’ he says to himself, desperately turning in circles trying to center himself, ‘They’re here. Just have to find them, they’re here.’  _

_ He runs up and down the aisles, seeing familiar faces as he rushes past. The grocery clerk, coach Finstock, kids from school, his neighbors from three houses down. The whole town is at this baseball game.  _

_ “Hi, have you seen Scott McCall, or my dad, John Stilinski, the sheriff? Do you have any idea where they could be?” Stiles asks to the people that all walk by him, not a single person paying attention to his questions, or even looking at him. The crowd erupts as a batter makes it onto base and everyone is standing up now, blocking his view.  _

_ A loud voice comes on over the speaker system and Stiles doesn’t pay attention at all, just trying to find the people he needs. After the national anthem plays, the voice speaking turns very familiar.  _

_ “On the behalf of the city of Beacon Hills, I would like to thank some very special people for making this game possible.” That’s his dad. He jumps up to see over the crowd and when his eyes catch the brown jacket his dad wears everyday he takes off running down the flights of stairs pushing past vendors and spectators until he’s at field level and finds himself behind the net at home base.  _

_ Everyone he cares about is out on the field, his dad, Scott, Lydia, his friends and teammates. “Where’s Stiles? Where’s Stiles Stilinski?” Everyone turns to stare at him, thousands of eyes on him, and he’s on the jumbotron, the center of attention and his heart skips a beat. The people on the field all look back to where he’s standing frozen and suddenly there’s security guards grabbing his arms and he’s pulled onto the field. He tries to talk to his dad but nobody makes eye contact with him.  _

_ “Here he is everyone, Stiles Stilinski!” He’s so freaking scared and every person follows his exact movements. His dad finally looks at him and gives him a big smile. “Hi bud! I have some things to say that are pretty important and I just wanted to let everyone else know.” Stiles turns around in circles trying to figure out what is going on and there’s a huge lump in his throat and his hands are getting clammy and his breathing is erratic. He does not need to have a panic attack in the middle of a baseball field with his whole town watching.  _

_ “First I want to thank you for killing your mother, she meant the world to me, so much more than you will ever mean to me, and you  _ **_killed_ ** _ her! So thank you for that! Second, you ruin everything, and I mean everything! You’re a menace to everyone around you and you do nothing but fuck everything up! I lost my job at the station because you can’t keep your goddamn nose out of trouble and do what you’re supposed to do for once!” When he looks at his dad’s torso, his jacket is gone, replaced with a tattered grey shirt that’s covered in stains and smells like alcohol. “Thank you Stiles for absolutely nothing! Your mother would be so disappointed in you!” _

_ Then Scott’s talking, “You’re the worst friend that I never wanted. You’re a liar, fat, and a completely mental person Stiles. You keep trying to be normal, but when will you realize that we don’t want you here?! Leave us alone!” _

_ “Go home Stiles” Isaac shouts, “Fuck off fatty” Allison yells at him. Everyone is shouting at him and the banners around the stadium all read horrible slurs, the crowd is throwing things at and he’s still turning around trying to find the one person who can fix all of this. _

_ “I never loved you. You’re too broken to ever be loved Stiles. When are you going to realize that we all just put up with you because your dad asks us to!” Stiles looks at Lydia, her perfect strawberry blonde hair in a bun, her cheeks red from yelling at him. “I never loved you! And neither does Derek!” _

_ Then the crowd is suddenly dead silent and the jumbotron shows someone moving in the dugouts. Derek appears seconds later and as he walks across the field, straight towards him and grabs the microphone from his dad. Stiles looks at his boyfriend, what is going on? Derek can fix this, he’ll protect you, Derek does love you. _

_ “You’re one of the stupidest people I’ve ever met. Did you really think that I could ever love you? You’re so desperate for someone to love you that you actually believed that I care about you. I don’t love you Stiles. You’re nothing! You mean nothing to me!”  _

_ “Stiles…” _

_ He’s crying silently, tears rolling down his cheeks as his chest desperately tries to take in enough air. _

_ “Stiles! Come on!” _

_ The crowd resumes its taunting and throwing baseballs at him. _

_ “Dream- it’s a dream...Stiles-”  _

_ Then there’s more people walking from the dugouts. He can’t tell who they are until they’re closer. It’s everyone who’s gone missing. Everyone who’s dead now. Because of him. As they looked at him their eyes turn a milky white and they move to the side, making room for Sean to walk through, carrying Stiles’ bat. Derek shoves him forwards so he falls onto his knees and Sean steps forward with a sick smile, grabbing his chin roughly and looks into his eyes.  _

_ “I promised you we’d meet again pretty boy.” He takes a step back and brings the bat up and swings straight at his head, and as it makes contact the crowd cheers impossibly loud. _

 

Stiles wakes up in his bed, sheets wrapped around his thrashing body, and is hopeless to try and stop the sounds from ripping their way out of this throat. There’s a warm hand instantly covering his mouth gently and Derek’s eyes come into his view. He can’t breathe, he can’t move, he’s going to die. The tears running down his cheeks are as real as they were in his nightmare and he can’t shake the terror that is still present. 

As he tries desperately to calm himself down he realizes that Derek is pressed tightly against his side, one hand over his mouth and one bracing himself on a pillow near his headboard. “Stiles it’s okay. It’s just a dream, it’s not real. You’re safe. You’re in your room. You’re safe Stiles. It’s okay.”

Stiles looks wildly around his room, expecting for this to just be a part of his dream. 

“Another nightmare?” 

He glances up at Derek with tear filled eyes and nods weakly and something inside Derek breaks because Stiles doesn’t deserve any of this. 

Stiles quietly cries as Derek bundles him up in his arms, untangling the sheets and dragging the comforter up around both of them. Stiles rubs furiously over his eyes, trying to make himself stop crying.  His heart still feels like it’s going to pound out of his chest but Derek’s warmth helps him settle. After he takes a second to pull himself together the most overwhelming emotion is embarrassment. 

_ Derek has no idea what he’s got himself into. You should really let him go, there’s no sense in dragging him down too. He’s better off without you.  _

And he hasn’t always been good at controlling his emotions, but he’s been practicing. When he cries he makes himself stop on a dime, just to learn to put up a better mask. So it takes him a minute but he takes a huge breath of air and holds it for five seconds and by the time he exhales, he’s stopped crying. Stiles wipes the tears off of his cheeks and calms himself down. 

_ No reason for Derek to have to deal with your shit _

It’s like he’s built a Berlin Wall within his own head. There’s a gentle hand brushing away the tears on his cheeks and he turns his head into the comfort. The warmness against his cheek moves and Derek cranes his neck to look into his eyes. “You don’t have to bottle it up, it’s okay Stiles.” 

And god only knows how Derek knew that that made the weight on his chest ease up just a little bit, but he looks away and lets the tears keep falling. 

Derek cares, and in that moment he’s too relieved to worry about the negative voices telling him to stop and get ahold of himself. His arm is still holding him tightly, comfortably against his body while his fingers start tracing shapes on his arm and shoulder. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Does he? He feels good considering the circumstances and he almost feels safe, but he can’t say anything because Derek will  _ leave.  _ And he does not want to be alone right now, even if he feels small in needy it’s still feels better than sitting on his bathroom floor, cold and alone. Stiles minutely shakes his head no. 

“”It’s okay, I’m still not going anywhere.”

God Derek can’t possibly be real. Has this always just been right out of his reach? Feeling not just not alone, but almost a small spark in his chest. He clamps it down almost just as fast as it comes up, but undeniably, that little bit of love and happiness was there. They lay there long enough for his right leg to fall asleep and his bladder to decide that using the bathroom is a necessity. 

He starts to untangle himself from his sheets and the limbs holding him and mumbles, “I need to use the bathroom...um..I’ll be right back.” It’s soft but Derek can hear him perfectly. When he stands up his legs have the pins and needles feeling and it takes him a moment to be sure that when he starts to walk his legs will be willing to cooperate. 

The walk to the bathroom is a mixture of emotions, mostly consisting of his need to pee, the awareness that a razor blade is easily accessible, and that the door has a very convenient lock. 

It’s really no surprise when he walks in and goes straight for the blade. He’s on a tight schedule and makes quick work of disrobing his legs, noting that if Derek finds out and demands to bandage them, he’s not wearing underwear and sure they’re in a relationship and everything, but it might be a little too soon to be popping a boner, especially in a tense situation.  

The cuts aren’t as quick as he’s used to, typically it’s a split-second flick of his wrist and he basks in the pain of the wound, but this time he drags the razor slowly across his already covered thighs. There’s more of a sting and it’s pleasant to watch the blood well up into small beads before they start to travel down the side of his huge thighs. Stiles does know that he’s got a time crunch, but it’s as if once he starts, it’s not entirely up to him when he stops. He usually stops when the red is enough, the sadness, anger, or frustration has receded into the back of his mind. 

Stiles grabs a wad of toilet paper and gets ready to press it into his skin to stop the bleeding when he remembers that he still has to pee. He didn’t think this one through very well. As the toilet paper turns red in one hand he relieves himself with the other. 

The shame burns through him and suddenly he wants nothing more than to have never picked up that first pencil sharpener that he stole from the art room when his teacher wasn’t looking. Why can’t he just be normal?

He’s quick in the bathroom and stores his trusty bladed back in a package of personal tissues, concealed in the layers of paper and puts it in his bottom drawer. Pants up, bloody tissues flushed in the toilet, hands washed very thoroughly and dried, door unlocked, walks in his room and as soon as he’s in his bedroom he knows by the way Derek tenses that all of his caution was worthless. 

The look in his eyes, blatant confusion and disappointment makes him wish he had a time machine. Stiles shuts his door and stands awkwardly by his desk feeling like he doesn’t belong in his own house. Derek lets out a very slight sigh and pats the bed next to him, pulling the covers aside, warm and inviting. 

When he’s all settled, his back against Derek’s warm chest and his head tucked just a little under Derek’s he lets himself be moved around so they’re both comfortable. They lay there in silence for a little while and Stiles is starting to think that Derek would just let it all blow over when his strong, soothing voice asks him a question. 

“Why did you do that?”

And for god’s sake isn’t that the question of the year. How is he supposed to answer that? When his brain blanks on him he chooses to not speak, hoping against all odds that Derek will  understand what’s going on in his head. 

_ You can under no circumstances tell Derek that you’re feeling like shit after everything he’s already done for you. The truth will just scare the hell out of him, and being quite real here, once he’s gone, and he will be gone eventually, you’re not going to find anyone else who will be able to stand you. Why would you chase away the only person that’s in your corner? _

_ But on the same hand he doesn’t deserve this at all, maybe pushing him away would be better? Save him from yourself because in the end you’ll just hurt him, you hurt everyone.  _

“I’m sorry” he whispers. “I don’t know why..I just- I just did..I’m sorry.”

“Can I see them Stiles? I don’t know how deep you cut and..by the looks of some of the other cuts you might need stitches…”

“I promise I didn’t cut deep enough for stitches this time. Honest. You don’t need to look, I think the bleedings already stopped…” 

His voice isn’t as strong as he wants it to be and it’s more than slightly annoying. It’s easier to talk when he’s not staring into those green eyes, he can shield himself from what he might see if he was to look. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Please tell me? What can I do to make this at least a little easier for you?”

Stiles closes his eyes because what can Derek do? Instead of pushing himself out of his comfort-zone he chooses silence, good old fashioned silence. 

After a minute Derek huffs a small laugh, “You know you’re just like Laura was, she never talked either.”

Laura? His older sister, what does she have to do with any of this? He’s too curious for his own good and apparently Derek knows that. 

“I’ll tell you about Laura if you tell me what’s going on in your pretty little head.”

_ Pretty boy _

Stiles does flinch slightly, bringing up his nightmare again, and it’s a little too soon to think about that at all. He never wants to think about that word and its tainted meaning and he never wants Derek to say that to him. 

He debates it in his head but the sides are quite well established at this point and he’s snoopy and wants to know everything. “Tell me about Laura first.”

Derek doesn’t laugh at him or anything over his resignation and it makes Stiles a little more relaxed. 

“Okay do this for me first, I promise it’s not a big deal, I just want to see if this will help you relax.”

What thing? What can possibly help him?

“And then you’ll tell me and I’ll tell you about the workings in my huge head?”

“Promise.”

“Okay...what do you want to do?”

“Well first you’re going to get comfortable, so move around and get ready to stay still for a little while. I promise that this isn’t anything that can hurt you at all.”

Stiles wiggles out from underneath Derek’s arm and aligns himself again so that his body isn’t flush against Derek’s. He feels guilty doing so knowing that wolves are tactile and this probably looks like he’s rejecting Derek but he did say to get comfortable. In the end he nudges slightly closer to Derek so his right hand is touching Derek’s left arm, that can’t hurt anything. 

“Just lay back first, you’re all set now?” Stiles nods his head in affirmation, “Okay I want you to focus on what you can see, look at the ceiling, the shadows from your lamp, the texture, light from cars, look at everything but don’t move your head. Keep your head still and look at everything, don’t just see it, focus on everything and keep your breathing slow.”

“What’s this going to do?”

“Ssshhhh. I’ll tell you after I’m done. Just relax.”

“Okay, now close your eyes and  _ feel  _ the darkness. Lay back and just let it be.”

“You could really be a meditation teacher or whatever this stuff is, get you a day job at least.”

“Stiles I’m financially set for the rest of my life, I don’t need a day job. Now hush.” Stiles turns his head away from Derek’s voice so it’s resting how it was before. They stay like that for a little while and before he even realizes it Stiles is relaxing a little bit, the muscles on his face lying still as his body reacts to his lack of light. 

“You’re doing great. Now I want you to focus on how everything feels around you. This is the most important part, it’s the basis of grounding, feeling your body. Feel the way your head is laying on the pillow and the way the mattress fits with your body. Feel the weight of your body, the blankets. Just feel how everything is fitting together. Keep your eyes closed, you’re doing great.”

A small part of him flourishes at the praise Derek is giving him before he sets back to his task at hand. It’s actually really relaxing to just let go and have the mattress hold his body as he just lies there. Grounding was something his therapist had mentioned before in passing, something that Stiles had dismissed as another stupid ‘coping mechanism’ thinking it was just a pile of lies. Maybe the guy was getting paid for actually knowing what he was talking about. 

“Perfect.” Derek grabs a part of Stiles’ arm and gives it a gentle squeeze as reassurance for his work. “Now this is the relaxing part. Feel all of your muscles and how they’re supporting your body, like how your neck is supporting some of the weight of your head or how your legs are slightly bent, it’s all muscle. So one part of your body at a time, relax your muscles and let out all of the tension and trust your bed to hold you.” 

Stiles may never actually say it but this is actually kinda nice, he never realized how tense he must be all of the time. 

He starts to drift away, god his whole body is sore and this feels so good. Derek moves next to him and the movement starts to bring him up from the floating feeling. He is not going to sleep before he knows what happened to Laura. It’s also in that instant that he realizes that he may not want to know. Whatever happened with her has got to be close to something about himself for Derek to know any of this grounding shit. 

When he’s come back to himself enough he starts talking again, might as well get this conversation over. 

“Why do you know all of this stuff? You knew how to hold me like my dad does when we were in that house and now you know all about grounding? What happened with Laura?”

In retrospect it was rather straight-forward and a little too sharp. 

Derek rolls over so he’s looking at Stiles, who has also turned his body so they’re face to face. 

“You know about the fire and everything with me and Peter...but Laura was my older sister and when my mom died the responsibility of being an alpha was passed on to her. She was never weak or not strong enough, but what happened...There’s no way that I can actually describe to you what happened because you can’t develop the type of bonds that werewolves have with each other.” 

“But losing a pack member feels like losing a limb, a part of you that you’ve always had and suddenly it’s gone. But we didn’t just lose pack members, we lost my mother, our alpha and Laura just didn’t know how to cope with being an alpha, Peter was in the hospital in intensive care for months and she had to figure out how to live and how to deal with me.”

“I wasn’t easy to care for, I started picking fights in school and got kicked off of the basketball team senior year, grades started dropping and Laura just had to grow up way too fast. She didn’t know what to do and she had no guidance and there were no nearby packs that could help either.”

“But what ended up happening is she developed um...severe anxiety and, they technically said it was a panic disorder. She had triggers like seeing fire and feeling too warm or too cold. It wasn’t easy on either of us but I pulled myself together and started getting her to a therapist in the city. We lived there for a little while and it helped a lot, but she would still have random panic attacks everywhere. She had one in a grocery store once and I just had to hold her until it was over.”

“So I did a lot of researching on techniques for her, asked her therapist for some tips. I picked up a few of the things that worked for her, like drawing on her skin with my fingers and holding her tight. Grounding was what finally helped her learn to manage normal life again. You can do it anywhere, any time without people around you ever knowing. We did settle in a small house outside of the city and we had our land to run on during the full moons. Everything got back to a new normal but I just remembered that stuff, in case she ever needed me again I could at least help her through some of it. So, that’s what happened with Laura and why I know some of these things.”

Stiles just layed there and looked into Derek’s eyes but found nothing other than peace. He knew that losing their family had been tough on them, but he had never known about Laura. 

_ And now you’re going to go whine about your stupid little problems over a nightmare, some emotions and cuts, and some fat on your body when Derek and Laura went through all of that. Pathetic and disgusting. You don’t deserve him.  _

When Derek waves his fingers in front of Stiles’ face he focuses in again on his boyfriend. Derek looks at him with a sad smile, god why does he always do the sad smile?

“I know that look too, the one that means you’re thinking too much. What are you thinking about?” He asks gently while making it clear that responding is expected. His large fingers dance over Stiles’ bony ones and drew patterns on the back of his hand. 

_ Don’t tell him! Don’t tell him! Don’t tell him! _

“Will you promise me that you won’t laugh or anything?”

“I don’t think I could ever laugh at anything that makes you feel this bad.” Sap. 

He takes a big breath getting ready to talk. And then takes another breath. And another. Just when he’s getting ready for Derek to tell him to get a move on Derek’s there reassuring him. “It’s okay if you can’t right now.”

“But that’s the point! A normal person can just talk about what they’re feeling and I can talk about everything but that! Why am I so messed up that I can’t even say what’s on my mind? I want to be able to, it pisses me off so much that I can’t do a simple thing as easy as opening my freaking mouth and making some sounds!” He closes his eyes angrily and moves his hand to rub at his eyes that are definitely not getting blurry. “I’m just scared that one day you’re going to look back and think ‘why did I ever want to be with him?’ I’m scared that you’ll look at me one day and realize that you can have so much better and I’m scared that you’ll leave me for someone better and I literally have to compete with everyone because you’re bisexual and there’s girls with big boobs and guys with muscles and all of these people who can be better for you than I ever will be. And I’m here worrying about us and being pretty selfish when you’ve just told me about Laura and I’m just so petty sometim-” It’s a little hard to ignore the tears leaking out of his eyes now. 

Derek’s fingers still and wrap around his fragile wrist and grab tightly and hard enough that there might be a bruise in the morning. “Let’s get this straight Stiles” he brings his other hand around to force Stiles’ chin up so they have eye contact. “Don’t tell me how I feel, because I think that I might really like you and I don’t want you to ever think otherwise. And don’t worry about other people, I’m choosing you because I don’t want any of them. I like how smart and funny you are, how selfless and brave and outgoing you can be. I like when you figure things out because there’s this flash of happiness across your face and a smile when you know you’ve solved it. Let me love all of the things that you overlook because they’re all still there and it’s what makes you you and I wouldn’t change it for the world.” 

Derek leans forward, crowding into Stiles’ space on the side of the bed and brings their lips together in a kiss that Derek controls. By the time he pulls away he’s slightly out of breath and that was freaking amazing. Stiles makes a mental list of his favorite things to do and puts kissing Derek in the second slot, his first is still seeing the numbers on his scale go down. 

“Is that what you really worry about? Thinking that I’m going to go and choose anyone else? Because let me tell you this, I am never going to find anyone else. Wolfs reach an age when our hormonal homeostasis starts to change, and mostly more of the serotonin and dopamine are being created and it makes it so that relationships are more serious. We happen to be in a relationship and I’ve liked you before it was technically legal for me to like you, and my brain’s chemistry is doing a pretty good job of making me fall for you. So trust me Stiles, you’re the one I want.”

Holy hell. 

_ So his brain is tricking him into liking you.  _

That’s not what he said! He likes you, for fuck’s sake use your ears! 

Too many things to deal with right now! Almost like Derek can read his mind he pipes up, “We can talk about it tomorrow, in the morning. If you’re up for it we can go back to the loft, that’s where everyone still is now, and I’ll make pancakes or something, maybe Lydia will cook. It’s only Sunday so all of you will get a chance to rest before school on Monday.”

“Going to sleep sounds pretty good right now truthfully. What are you going to do though? Go back to the loft in the morning and I’ll meet you there...because my dad’s gonna wake up and everything…”

“I’m staying with you, I’ll figure out something so he won’t see me. Plus this way you don’t have to be by yourself tonight”

“Technically it’s the morning, right around..” Stiles looks at his clock and realizes just how exhausted he still is, “three fifteen. Okay well I don’t plan on waking up before noon so maybe more of a lunch thing?”

“How about you can sleep at the loft, I want to go back and be with everyone else too.”

_ Aka he doesn’t want to be alone with you. _

_ It doesn’t matter what he’s said he’ll find someone better than you, someone not broken. _

“Does that sound okay?”

Stiles closes his eyes, the past 24 hours have felt so long and it’s hard for him to keep his eyes open any longer, “yeah that sounds good.”

“Okay then. Try to go to sleep and I’ll avoid your dad and I’ll wake you up when-”

Stiles is asleep before Derek even finishes his sentence. 

 

\-----------------------------

 

Morning comes way too soon. 

Stiles wakes up to Derek’s phone alarm going off way too loud and rolls over throwing his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight that manages to come through his window shades. But Derek isn’t anywhere in his room or anywhere that Stiles can see from his position laying on his bed. So he sits up and is even more confused when he still can’t find Derek but does take the phone and turn the annoying alarm off.

Once that noise has stopped Stiles is able to hear the sound of running water from his bathroom, and the sound when the water turns off. He hops out of bed and his body isn’t too sore anymore, but he’s still exhausted. Grabs some sweatpants, a long sleeve shirt and a baggy sweatshirt, and fuzzy socks. And fuck Scott and Isaac for laughing at his bright socks, those fuckers are so fuzzy and comfortable. 

As he makes his way around his room Derek comes out of the bathroom. 

“I just grabbed a quick shower, you were still asleep and you dad left so I didn’t think it would hurt anything. It’s all open now and there’s still hot water. We can head to the loft as soon as you’re ready.”

But honestly Stiles isn’t paying attention to anything that Derek’s saying because his hair is dark and wet, there are droplets of water all over his body and his towel is hanging so low on his hips it should be considered illegal. Not that he’s complaining in the least. Derek walks over to him in all of his post-shower glory and gives him a quick kiss and a smirk. 

“Go grab a shower and we’ll head out.”

His routine is easy by now, the only difference is avoiding pressing too hard on his bruises all over his chest and torso from where Sean very helpfully introduced his body to a tree. The shower is quick and he dries off remembering that he left his clothes in his bedroom. So he walks into his room and finds Derek sitting on his bed flipping through a book. He’s embarrassed now because his whole body is pretty much on display, well at least his chubby stomach and fat arms, not a defined muscle in sight. So when he grabs his clothes he turns around he gets dressed fast and pulls on his socks before looking at Derek.

“All set?”

Stiles nods in confirmation and grabs his charging cell phone off of his night stand and they both go downstairs and put on their shoes and head outside. The drive is quick and quiet, the only real sound is when the giant door to the loft is being opened and it catches against the floor for a second. And everyone is asleep, in some pretty interesting positions too. 

Isaac pushed the two beanbags together and made a bed that way and threw a blanket over himself. Boyd and Erica took over the couch with Erica lying on top of her boyfriend, well Stiles doesn’t think that they’ve actually said that they’re dating, but let’s be honest, they’re dating. Scott and Alison folded out the other couch into the small bed and are lying on one half, Lydia asleep on the other side. 

It’s got to be a dominance thing or something because Derek’s bed is upstairs and there are six bodies here which means that Derek’s bed is uninhabited. And for all of the supernatural hearing and everything, not a single body stirs. Well, Lydia rolls over but doesn’t even open her eyes so that doesn’t count. 

“Let’s go upstairs, there’s still plenty of blankets on my bed so you’ll be warm enough.” Derek nods in the general direction of the stairs and Stiles makes his way up the spiral staircase. True to his word there are still blankets on his bed and suddenly the king size bed is looking so comfortable. He kicks his shoes off and Derek does the same before pulling the covers back and adjusting his pillows. 

“What about all of them? Will they come up here?”

“No” Derek says as Stiles slides in next to him, “They know to stay out of it. They won’t bother us.” They both move under the blankets and Stiles is discreet about making sure no part of his body other than his forearm is touching Derek. “It’s not like they don’t know.”

“Yeah I know, but…it’s still a little new and kinda weird and I haven’t talked to anyone besides Lydia and all of a sudden I’m going to be here like, ‘hey guys I’m dating Derek’, isn’t that a little weird?”

“Maybe it looks that way to you but honestly it’s not a big deal. Nobody is going to freak out or lose their heads. And I thought you would still be tired, why don’t you try and fall asleep again? I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s a big lie because when Stiles does wake up again he’s alone in bed and also the only one upstairs.

_ Seriously, you have the world’s thickest skull.  _

He gets out of bed and immediately feels cold so he pulls the covers up to his chin and looks around the room. He’s already wearing his sweatshirt so he’s out of his own layers to add. He spots the old dresser that looks like it has some burnt areas and opens the first drawer and sighs in relief, socks, his feet are always cold. They’ve been getting consistently colder for the past few months and as annoying as it is, it’s a reassurance that he’s doing something right. 

The next drawer has sweatpants so he doubles up on those too and pulls the waistband cord out quite a ways before it’s snug on his hips. Sweatshirt got doubled too but it’s okay right, this is what couples do, wear each others clothes? Well he’s seen Alison in Scott’s lacrosse sweatshirt but they’re also straight, will people think that this makes him the ‘girl’ of the two of them? Because that’s not cool. 

But he’s also dating Derek who he knows will growl at anyone who tries to put a name on what they have. So he puts on his sneakers because cold concrete floor with only a few rugs? No thank you, and heads down the stairs, looking at the slightly dewy windows as the big table in the kitchen comes into view. 

And there is nobody else there either. Stiles is stunned for a second before his mind starts racing ten miles a second. 

Okay, this is okay, they just stepped out, they’ll be back in just a second. 

_ They’re gone! They ALL left you! _

There’s a reason, maybe they had to do something?

_ Yeah well either way you weren’t invited to the party and they didn’t even bother to let you know they were leaving. Maybe they want you to be gone before they get back. _

No this is okay, take a deep breath.

_ Like any of that shit works?! _

Deep breaths, in three, out five. Repeat. 

When Stiles is done after breathing and getting his head together he looks around and notices that he isn’t actually all alone, he can see light coming from underneath the bathroom door across the room. Question is, who is it?

He walks around and flops on the couch were Erica and Boyd were and purposefully turns himself away from the kitchen. He jerks his head up when the door opens up and Scott walks out, only half awake himself, his feet dragging slightly as he yawns. 

Scott looks at him and gives a small smile. Stiles waits for an explanation for where everyone is but Scott sits on the other side of the couch and kicks his feet up and stretches his legs as far as the limited space will allow. But Scott is still as thick as a coconut as says nothing. God does Stiles have to do everything around here?

“Morning”

Scott grumbles at him but manages an understandable ‘morning’ in acknowledgement.

“Where is everyone?” Scott looks around like he’s just realizing that they’re alone in the loft before a tiny lightbulb goes off in his head. 

“There’s like no food here, Derek look everyone out to grab breakfast, they should be back soon, they left like um..” he looks at his phone, “an hour ago and I think they only went across town.”

Stiles hums and walks towards the kitchen to grab a drink of water. “Then why are you here?” he questions. 

“Well it’d be a dick move to leave you here alone, I figured we can cook eggs or whatever Derek has, which isn’t a lot, which is why they left, and you already know all of that.” Scott moves into the kitchen and starts opening drawers and cabinets, letting the doors slam shut which just irks Stiles. 

“There’s like three eggs, um some bread, and I think some stale cereal, and Isaac’s toaster waffles. I wouldn’t touch the waffles if I was you.” Scott pulls everything out, minus the waffles, and puts it on the table. “Whatcha want?”

_ Nope. Hell to the N. O. P. E. _

_ Derek has tea, you’ll have some tea _

“Let me make some tea, I’ll eat something later” Stiles slips in easily, hoping that Scott will let it be. 

But that would just be too easy for him. 

“Stiles, we’re not doing this again.” He turns and glares at his thinner best friend. “You need to eat something or else-”

“Or else what? You’ll tell my dad? Well trust me he already knows exactly how much I eat so it won’t matter if I eat or not because you’re still going to tell him anything that concerns my mouth and something edible.” Stiles remarks bitterly.

“That’s not how it is and you know that! I’m just trying to make sure you’re not going to end up in the emergency room again because  _ trust me _ hearing some freshman screaming across the school and then finding you in a heap on the floor wasn’t exactly how I wanted my day to end up!” Scott’s moved closer to Stiles, leaving the food forgotten. 

“Well excuse me for being such a burden! I never asked for you to care!” He exclaims, hands drastically pointing at Scott. “I never wanted you to be the Stiles Stilinski emergency medical technician.”

“I’m your best fucking friend Stiles, of course I care! You’re the other part of me and I don’t know what I’d do without you, so yes I care and yes I tell your dad if you bother to eat because the last thing any of us want is for you to be so sick!”

_ Sick? This isn’t sick, this is self-improvement. The opposite of sick, this is good.  _

“I just want you back, you haven’t been yourself for months.” Scott gives him those freaking huge puppy eyes and slouches his shoulders, probably on purpose too and Stiles can’t do anything other than at least pretend to give in and move on. 

_ Because you’re not sick, you’re strong.  _

“Egg whites and toast. I’ll eat some egg whites and toast.”

“The whole egg and two slices of toast.”

“No butter on the toast. Deal or no deal.” Stiles begrudgingly relents.

“Deal”

They work in silence, Stiles heating up the water for his tea and Scott cooking the eggs, scrambled just how Stiles always used to eat them. 

He remembers.

After some quiet time passes the eggs are done and Stiles is glaring at them like he would rather fall through the floor than put one of those in his mouth. He looks up from his mug of green tea with peppermint, and who knew Derek actually had tea? And sighs. 

“Stiles…” 

“Yeah, I know.” Might as well get it over with.

Just one meal. You’ve already lost more this week than you had planned. 

_ Those workout videos are a holy grail, sweat, blood, and tears. Literally ha ha. Worth it though, can’t argue with the results.  _

Scott has the decency to put on music on his phone. It makes the silence and expectations in the air a little more tolerable. And it helps drown out the sound of him chewing and lets his mind wander from the plate in front of him. 

Scott’s voice pulls him out of his drifting. “You sure you don’t like eating man? You’ve eaten more than I have.” he scoffs as he grabs another bite of toast. “I mean like, you obviously like food so why is it so hard?”

_ And you thought you were off of the hook fatass. You’re a fucking pig. ‘I mean like, you obviously like food’. You obviously like food? Yes you do you fat cow! You have fat all over your body! Why did you eat! Scott literally just told you that you’re disgusting! You’re bad! You’re fat! You’re bad! _

His stomach lurches suddenly and for god’s sake he is not going to puke again. He swallows the bile and gets a vile aftertaste in his mouth which he chases away with his tea. Stiles hurriedly shoves his plate away from him and Scott picks up that something is wrong. 

“Stiles? What’s wrong?” A look of realization flashes across his puzzled complexion, “Shit Stiles I didn’t mean that you’re fat! Hell no, you’re too fucking skinny to be anywhere close to fat! I was just trying to be encouraging man! You know, like ‘good job for finally eating something’” 

He’s too busy looking at his plate to listen to Scott’s rushed apology. Both pieces of toast are gone. 90 calories per slice of bread, 180 calories in total from toast. Egg 85 calories, two eggs 170 calories. Ketchup 20 calories. Tea is 10 calories. Add 30 calories for miscalculations. Total damage: 410 calories. 

_ BAD. BAD. BAD. FAT. UGLY. WORTHLESS. HUGE DISGUSTING. _

“Please keep eating, come on man! It doesn’t mean anything! You need to eat Stiles, this isn’t healthy okay?! Not eating is not healthy, you’re going to kill yourself if you keep doing this Stiles! They’re going to bring you to a doctor and then the shit’s going to really hit the fan. Do you know what they do to people with eating disorders? They put them in hospitals Stiles! You don’t belong in a hospital or with a nutritionist or some psychologist, just finish your breakfast man!”

Stiles pushes his plate even further away and stands up, dumping his tea in the sink and leaving the mug on the counter. His body feels infinitely heavier as he walks across the loft, he can feel the weight on his stomach, legs, chest, arms, everywhere. Scott pushes his chair away and starts to follow him but stops at the bottom of the staircase as Stiles steadily walks up into Derek’s room, not looking back down at his friend. Derek was right when he said that they wouldn’t come upstairs. 

“Quit it! You’re acting like a kid throwing a tantrum!”

The words sink into his skin and they hurt. As he reaches the top few stairs he can hear Scott yelling at him and the unmistakable sound of the loft door being dragged open and several voices talking, although they all fall quiet when they notice the commotion. Stiles can practically feel the confusion in the room but then he walks out of sight and quits caring. 

_ You fucker, you thought you were different, that you could be something good. You’re always just going to be a failure, a wreck, a kid throwing a fit. You’re going to die fat, ugly, and alone.  _

After a little while the voices downstairs get quieter and eventually there’s the sound of heavy feet on the metal stairs. Derek. God he doesn’t want to have to face Derek. But as fate would have it the staircase did not magically collapse and everyone was not trapped downstairs and he was not alone up here. The embarrassment runs red hot through his body as he remembers that he’s wearing Derek’s clothes, he probably doesn’t want a fatass wearing his clothing. 

Dereks doesn’t say anything for a minute before he sits down on his side of the bed, not looking at him. And that makes his nerves fry because Derek should say something, but there’s nothing. Just silence. 

In the time they sit there Stiles hears the loft door open and close and he stands up and looks out the window on the side of the room and he sees everyone piling into their respective cars. 

“I asked them to leave, I figured we could have the day to ourselves since your dad is working and they’ll all be together, or at least not alone so they won’t be in any danger.” The taller man stands up and walks over to the window too and silently slips his hand into Stiles’ much smaller hand. 

Surprisingly Stiles’s doesn’t pull his hand away, the comfort feels nice. The hand tugs him downstairs and over to the couch that now has the blankets folded up and the rest of the room clean. Thankfully all evidence of the breakfast had been cleaned up. 

“I think you’ll be proud of me…”

That perks his interest and for the first time since Derek’s been back, he makes eye contact and is relieved to find no anger or disappointment. 

“I got a Netflix account.”

At that Stiles does let out a small laugh. God Derek can do that to him, change a bad situation and make it easier. 

“I figured that we can watch some more Breaking Bad, start season 3 since we finished season 2 last time.” 

Stiles sits down next to Derek and despite his earlier inner conflict he leans against Derek and pulls the blankets over both of them as the tv is turned on and the show is pulled up.

“Do you mind me wearing your stuff? I was just cold this morning and I can go take it off if you want me to, I’m warmer now.” 

God he did just take Derek’s stuff, what if Derek has a thing about clothes? His friend Jacob wouldn’t let anyone wear his clothes ever. One time Stiles fell, read:  _ was pushed by Jacob’s older brother _ , into their pool and he had to go home because he had no dry clothes to change into and Jacob freaked out when his mom tried to give him something else to wear. 

“Mmhh, no it’s actually very nice. You should bring it home with you, I like it.” 

And now he’s blushing like a schoolgirl. Derek wraps arm around Stiles and pulls him closer and after the initial uncomfortableness wears off Stiles is okay and relaxes into the embrace. They never quite finish watching the end of the episode because there may be some kissing that happens that leads to a full on makeout session. But nothing more, not yet. 

When they’ve both turned their attention back to the tv Derek leans over and tells him, “I know that you don’t believe it, but I love you just the way you are.”

Stiles may not like himself, but he’s beginning to understand that Derek still likes him irregardless. And that’s a fantastic feeling. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please tell me what you think I love knowing that this work is still wanted and I love everyone's reactions and comments. Most likely lots of people reading this have been through similar things so stay strong if you're going through a tough time. You may not be able to see it or feel it, but there are people who love you. Kudos and comments make me smile. Go into 2017 with your chin up and be kind to yourselves, you all deserve to be happy.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles starts looking for the necklace the Sean told him he sold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truthfully, I was so happy that Twenty One Pilots got a Grammy that I sat down and wrote another 8k for this story! Honestly I listened to their music all night and I sat down to make myself write. Tyler said something along the lines of, 'purpose starts when you create something only you understand'. It really inspired me because I'm the one who knows how I want all of this to turn out, so I have to write it. Either way you can thank all of the support you all have given me through kudos and comments, some inspiration from some amazing music, and a Grammy for this chapter.

“Walker’s Pawn Shop how can I help you?”

“Hi um, I was wondering if anyone has come in recently with a necklace. Small, single circular diamond in the middle, it’s pretty plain. It’s also kinda old, like ten years old so it’s not brand new or anything but it doesn’t look too old or anything…” 

Stiles is spinning in his chair by his bed, watching the window come in and out of view as he concentrates on the voice at the other end of his phone. 

“Can I please ask who is calling?”

“Um, yeah it’s me again. Stiles Stilinski. Look I know that this is like the third time that I’ve called this week but this is really important and-”

“Mr. Stilinski are you aware that today is Tuesday? You have called three times between yesterday and today concerning this necklace that still has not come into this shop.”

“I know, but this is really important. It belonged to my-”

“Mr. Stilinski I really do not care about who this missing necklace belonged to because I have never seen it and it has never been in my shop.”

“I get that, but I need to check in because this is extremely important and I get that this might be over your head but when I was a kid-”

“Over my head?! Stilinski, I don’t care if your dad is the sheriff or not, you are disrupting my work and insulting me and I hope you understand this or else I will be calling your dad at his work, do not call my shop again! Now have a lovely day and don’t call.”

“Okay, okay, okay, that’s fine, I won’t call again, but will you call me?”

He takes the silence on the line and lack of hanging up to mean that he can go ahead without being cut off. 

“Like if something like this necklace comes in will you let me know? I can give you my number, home and cell so that you can get ahold of me either way just to make sure because I don’t want to miss it if it does show up. It was stolen and this person said that they sold it and I think that they were lying but I wouldn’t put it past him to go and try to sell it now.”

“Fine. What’s your number?”

“Oh, um, thank you. Here’s my cell five, eight, one. Six, five, four, nine, nine, nine, one. The home phone is five-”

“Just your cell phone is fine I’ll call if anything comes in. Don’t call again.”

“Okay, just-”

The line goes dead and Stiles is left talking to static. He has the sinking feeling that even if the necklace comes in the owner isn’t going to call him. 

Stopping spinning in his chair he faces his laptop and dials the next number on his screen for another shop just outside of the city.

 

\--------------------------------------

  
  


He’s been staring at his phone for a week. Not a lot has happened in said week other than what normally happens. History test, gym class, flushing pills, ipecac, changing bandages. 

The only good thing that has happened is that Derek comes over every night and reads on his bed until his homework is done and then they lay next to each other and talk. Stiles managed to get him to play chess one night and immediately got him into checkmate. Derek hasn’t wanted to play since.

Right now he’s sitting on his carpet floor in his bedroom holding chess pieces in his hands. A white king in his left hand and a black pawn in his right. The pieces feel lacking, like they have a purpose but he doesn’t know what to do with them, besides play chess. 

Stiles looks at his clock, school just got out an hour ago so he’s got some time before his dad gets home and Derek comes over. 

_ Also known as: you have enough time _

And this is what he really hates. He had a perfectly fine day. He has no reason to be feeling like this, to have these thoughts seeping into his mind. He got an 88 on a calculus test, which isn’t great but his grades have dropped so it’s his new normal to not be getting A’s. 

_ You never used to get 88’s, you used to get 99’s, pathetic. You really deserve it.  _

He feels so weak and out of control, for fuck’s sake he can’t control his own head! He hasn’t cut in five days. But...he hasn’t cut in five days because of Derek. It’s easier to barely hold on until Derek gets to his room and then just let him take care of his thoughts. 

Derek has been stopping him from cutting, Stiles hasn’t been doing it himself, and even with Derek over every night it’s come too close a few days. 

Derek is fighting for him.

It’s not his fight and Stiles needs to be able to take care of himself but he can’t bring himself to actively challenge his own mind. Sure he wishes that everything would be solved with a magic wand. He would weigh as little as possible, he wouldn’t be depressed, he wouldn’t have anxiety, he wouldn’t hurt himself anymore, and his scars would go away. 

But that isn’t how life works. He’s pretty messed up and no amount of workless hope will make a difference. That much change is just too much pressure, too much defying his own thoughts, and too much energy. 

He’s always tired now, not enough for him to be worried but definitely enough for him to notice that he wants to be asleep all of the time and when he wakes up, he’s still tired. In fact he just decided that a nap would be wonderful. Stiles gets off the floor and carefully puts the chess pieces back in the box. He grabs another another pair of socks because his feet are almost always cold now. 

He never gets his nap because as soon as his head hits the pillow the home phone, which is downstairs, starts to ring. It’s not his dad or any of his friends because they know his cell number, and they don’t get a lot junk calls, so this could be important. He huffs and pulls himself out of bed and races downstairs to grab the phone before the call ends. 

When he sees the called ID he internally freaks out a little bit. It’s the station calling. Calling his house. 

What if he’s hurt? Of fuck please let him be okay. His thin fingers press the answer button and before he can say anything the voice on the other end of the speaks. 

“Stiles Stilinski do not hang up on me.”

He lets out a big breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. 

“Dad? Why are you calling me? Did you forget your charger at home?”

“Stiles I’m fine, but you need to listen to me and do not hang up, you hear me?”

This cannot be good if his dad is making him listen, it’s at least important if not something he really doesn’t want to do. It’s not the first time his dad has tricked him like this. 

“Yeah dad, I won’t hang up.”

“Okay then, Dr. Mullen emailed me a couple of days ago and told me that she had to cancel your appointment next week.”

Yes!

“And she called me about two hours ago when you were still in school and said that she had a cancellation and you could come in today at five.”

No! He already knows how the rest of this conversation is going to go. 

“Is it too much to hope that you told her that I  _ really _ don’t want an appointment.” Stiles sighs and starts walking back up to his room, fuzzy sock feet sliding on the carpet.

“Stiles don’t make this difficult, you know where her office is and it takes twenty-five minutes to get over there so leave yourself plenty of time for traffic and please be on time.”

He reaches for his doorknob and he jumps when he gets shocked, freaking little lightning bolts.

“Yeah, I’ll be there on time. Is there still a co-pay?”

“Yes, take twenty from the jar in the kitchen. And just twenty, I counted last week so I know exactly how much is in there.”

“Bummer I wanted to buy a new car.” He sighs as he looks out his window. It’s isn't a nice day outside and it’s really not very inspiring or making him want to go talk about his problems. 

Buy a new car? He’d rather lose a foot before he gets rid of the jeep.

“You wouldn’t buy a new car, even if there was enough money.”

His dad may know him a little too well sometimes. 

“Yeah I know. I’ll make it to the appointment on time dad.”

“Okay, thanks kiddo, and schedule another appointment, I want you seeing her every other week.”

_ No No No  _

_ No No No _

_ No No No _

“Dad! That’s not fair! I don’t need-”

“Stiles I’m making this decision as your father. We can talk about it later when I get home if you want but you are going to start seeing her more again.”

He doesn’t say anything in reply to his dad, just breathes into the phone. 

“I know you’re mad”

No, he’s not mad. He’s livid and he’s terrified all rolled up into a little black ball.

“But something needs to change. We can talk about it tonight but I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone and I have work to get back to and you have an appointment to get to.”

Yeah, twenty-five minute drive and it’s already 4:15. 

“Okay, bye Stiles, I love you.”

He pulls a really dick move and doesn’t tell his dad he loves him, he just says ‘bye’ and hangs up, letting his frustration be more prominent as if it weren’t already obvious. 

Stiles grabs his phone and flops on his bed for a minute sending Derek a text.

Stiles- Hey, I have something I’ve gotta do. Don’t bother coming over, is tomorrow still good?

It takes a minute before his phone lights up again.

Derek- What happened? Do you need me to come over? I can be there in 10 minutes

Stiles- No, it’s nothing like that. I really just have to go do something my dad wants me to do. Promise. I’ll tell you later. Really have to go now 

Derek- Ok, let me know. And tomorrow is still good

Stiles- Okay

He almost types  _ I love you _ , okay he does type it but immediately deletes. 

Way too soon.

_ It will always be too soon because why would he ever want to say it back to you? No point in putting it out there just to be shot down. _

He said that he really liked me

_ Yeah and he said that his hormones happen to play a large part in that. It easily could have been someone else, someone better.  _

But it wasn’t. It’s me

_ Keep telling yourself that, you’re not even a werewolf! What if there are interspecies laws or something! You could literally be breaking some supernatural law right now.  _

He keeps debating with himself as he locks the house, just because of everything going on, he doesn’t normally lock the door because he keeps forgetting to put his house key on keychain and leaves it inside, effectively making him wait for his dad to get home. Luckily the days he was stuck outside were nice and not cold like it is now. 

But maybe it isn’t cold, maybe it’s just him. It doesn’t make him feel bad though, it just means his body is getting rid of more fat. 

His jeep comes to life and he takes the longest route to Dr. Mullen’s office. It isn’t that she’s not nice or anything, but seriously does he want to spill his deep dark secrets to a stranger with a PhD, not really. He pulls into the small parking lot for the building and walks inside glancing at the purple paint of the outside of the building. There’s lots of offices but he walks up the stairs and into the waiting room, staring at the door at the end of the hall. 

Much sooner that he wanted her door opened and she waved at him to come on back to her office. He’s pretty sure that this office is the smallest in the whole building and the walls seem to get closer once he sits in the leather chair and grabs a blanket from the couch on the other side of the tiny room. He takes off his shoes and pulls his legs onto the chair and throws the blanket over himself. 

She rearranged since the last time he was here. The lamp is in a different spot and her desk is pushed up against the wall. Minor details but they bother him a lot. 

“So Stiles, it’s been a long time, almost two months if I remember correctly.” She looks at him with her big brown eyes and gives him a smile that almost seems genuine. When he doesn’t make a move to say anything she starts talking again. 

“How have you been doing? Has anything big happened in the gap between now and then?”

Stiles really doesn’t want to talk so he doesn’t. 

Dr. Mullen takes out her laptop and keeps talking, “I’m just logging you in on here. How about we start with school? How are your grades?”

Stiles looks out the small gap between the window curtains and he can see the playground on the neighboring property. 

After a minute she sets her laptop on the floor next to her chair and looks at him and he hears her let out a small sigh. 

“Stiles I can’t do all of the work here. I don’t know what you’re thinking and you’re not telling me. You can stay quiet, that’s your choice, but it isn’t going to help us work through these issues.” 

Dr. Mullen looks at him for another minute before she stands up and motions for him to also. 

“If you’re not going to talk I can at least get a height and weight on you to put it on record.” She walks out of the room and that has Stiles’ attention. He bundles the blanket tighter around him and tries to make himself as unpleasant as possible. 

What does she need a height and weight for?! She’s not his doctor, what does it matter to her?

Her curly brown hair bobs back into the office carrying a scale which she sets on the floor. She can obviously feel his anger and confusion. So she starts to explain herself, “It’s been just about two months since we last saw each other,”

Stiles really wishes that she wouldn’t say it like that, they didn’t ‘see each other’, he sat in a chair and she talked and he sometimes answered. She makes it sound like they’re friends, something other than a client and a therapist, a bill and a wallet. They’re not. He’s here because his dad wants him to be and she’s here because he’s paying her to be. 

“and it’s rather obvious that you’ve changed, so if you don’t mind I’ll have you step up here so we can get a number and then your height.”

Honestly he should have fought more. Instead he gets up and drops the blanket and sucks his stomach in and bends over just a little bit to hide his gut. 

_ She’s going to see how fat you are! No! Nobody can know! She’ll hate you!  _

Stiles goes to step on the scale, eyes zeroed in on the little black arrow that’s going to point to a number when she clears her throat and he looks at her. 

“I’d like you to step on backwards.” 

Instead he takes several steps back towards the safety of the blanket and the chair. He sits back down as quick as he possibly can. There is no way that she is seeing the number and he isn’t. 

_ She shouldn’t see any number at all! Your fatass dones’t need to bring other people down too! No, you took it too far. No scale, no numbers that anyone else can see.  _

“Stiles I know that this might make you feel a little uncomfortable but this is for your best interest.”

_ A little uncomfortable? A little? _

“When I called your father he expressed the fact that he is worried about your eating habits and your recent moods. Do you feel that your medication is still working like it should be? If not you can get an appointment with the doctor who manages your medicines.”

Stiles doesn't say anything or look at her. It’s been a little while since he’s had to put up his maximum security walls in his mind. The walls where he doesn’t talk and doesn’t let anyone know what’s going on in his head. His therapist is still talking but he’s not listening. Instead he’s staring at the playground again. Some of the paint has come off on the slide so you can see the grey metal where bright red paint used to be. 

Stiles notices when she sits down again, opposite from him in her chair. He listens to her now but doesn’t show any indication that he is. 

“Your dad mentioned some sadness and withdrawal. A trip to the hospital. Can you tell me about that?”

_ Can I? Yes.  _

_ Will I? No. I’ve got another forty minutes to sit here and then I can leave. _

She’s still looking at him, waiting for a response that he’s not going to give. 

“Is it easier for you to ignore your problems by not talking about them?”

Stiles flinches as that; too close to the truth. 

“You know that with patient confidentiality everything that we talk about stays here. I feel that we have a lot we need to cover. I think that a lot of new things have come up for you that you might not be ready to talk about but that’s okay, we can work at your pace. That said, I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

He doesn’t look at her, just listens and when she finishes he moves his eyes straight forward again. The problem is that he can’t talk about three fourths of his life with this woman and there’s not exactly a therapist that specializes in the things that go bump in the night. Eventually she picks up her laptop and starts typing away. 

“I’m just taking notes on here. Please speak up if there’s something you want to work on.”

It’s frustrating because he wants to talk but he can’t. He wants to talk about everything that’s on his mind. Derek, Scott, his dad, his grades, how much he hates himself, how he cuts and doesn’t eat, how he can’t sleep anymore. Stiles wants to scream until his throat is hoarse because he is in so much pain but he can’t show it, because what will people think?

He can’t say what’s really on his mind. She won’t let him go home. He’ll go straight to the ER and from there he’ll go to Eichen House. Everyone at school will know, importantly his dad and Scott would know. 

He isn’t on good terms with Scott right now, but his opinion still matters. He doesn’t want his best friend,  _ are they still best friends? _ , to know exactly how broken he is. 

The forty minutes go by quickly, as time often does when the mind is numb. She closes her computer and stands up. Stiles gets up too, unfolding himself from the safe cocoon he made himself, and quietly puts his shoes on. They stand in silence before he speaks. 

“Can I set up another appointment next week?” He mumbles and looks at the door so he misses her smirk. 

“I’m all booked next week, but I have an opening in two Wednesdays the same time,  at five.”

“Yeah that should work” he mumbles, pulling out his wallet looking for the money. As soon as he grabs the bill to hand it to her, his blade falls out and clatters onto the wood floor. He looks down petrified. 

_ That did not just happen! That did  _ _ Not _ _ just happen! You worthless fuck-up you just dropped your blade on the floor in your freaking therapist’s office! _

He quickly bends down and picks it up, absolutely mortified and scared. She knows about some of the cutting, definitely not how bad it’s gotten recently, but she knows that it’s happened. He avoids eye contact as he hands he the bill but she doesn’t take it. 

“Stiles I need you to tell me, are you planning on hurting yourself?”

_ Why yes, yes I am. Thanks for asking. _

“I can’t let you leave here knowing that you are intending on hurting yourself. I have an obligation to keep you safe and that includes from yourself.”

He looks at her and says with the most sincerity that he can manage, “I’m not planning on it.”

“Are you lying to me?”

_ Hell yes I am lying to you! _

“What do you want me to say? I’m not planning on hurting myself. Is that what you need to hear in order to let me go home? Because if so this is me telling you: I am not going to hurt myself.”

“Stiles! I don’t want you to tell me what you think I want to hear. I need you to tell me the truth, do you need supervision tonight?” She seems really worried and is finding his answers frustrating.

He gives a sigh and drops the attitude before looking as innocent as possible, “I promise I’m not going to cut.” Stiles hopes the words don’t sound as fake as they feel on his tongue. 

They seem to work because she lets out a breath and looks at him again. “You wouldn’t mind giving that to me then?”

_ Oh fuck. Really? Is this really necessary? _

“Um, yeah sure. Not a problem.” He has more at home so it isn’t a huge deal but this one hold some significance. This is his first razor blade that he went out of his way to buy. Normally he took pencil sharpeners from school or broke a razor from the package his dad would buy him. This one represented the first time that he really hated himself so much and had the need to hurt himself that he spent his money on something to hurt himself with. 

Dr. Mullen takes a tissue and stretches her hand out and he slowly puts it in her palm watching as the metal becomes encased by the white paper. She carefully places it on her desk and then Stiles is handing her the money and making an exit for the door. As he grabs the know his therapist clears her throat one more time, prompting him to look back over his shoulder at her. 

“Stiles, can you answer this for me?” She has something important to say, it’s the way that she stands. When someone asks something important their face tends to get harsher and they suddenly have a deeper purpose, they tend to straighten their backs and stop moving their hands. He’s gotten good at reading body signals so he can brace himself for what’s going to come. 

But this is one question he ignores everyday, trying not to think about it because it makes everything so much harder.

“Do you want to get better?”

The silence is deafening. He answers truthfully because it’s the only answer. 

“I don’t know.”

 

\--------------------------------------

 

Stiles takes the back roads home, driving without any music just watching the trees fly by as his jeep rides down the pavement. Before he knows where he’s going he finds himself back at the grass lot where they all parked the night the pack went after the wendigos. His jeep rolls over the grass and parks on the edge of the woods.

He turns the key in the ignition and the engine cuts out, leaving him in silence besides from his own breathing. The grass is dry as he walks over it and stands at the tree line looking into the woods. Before he realizes what he’s doing his feet are bringing him into the woods, each step cracking small twigs and leaves. 

A couple of hundred of feet into the trees when the light is becoming visibly weaker he stops himself and looks around. There’s no trace of what happened here almost two weeks ago. There’s not an arrow pointing deeper into the woods where Stiles was, no sign or pathway, but it feels important somehow. 

If he focuses he can hear Sean’s words again, “ _ All you do is fuck things up Stiles. You make messes and break things and ruin people!” _

Does he want to get better? Maybe, honestly it depends almost on an hour to hour basis. But does he really deserve to get better? He’s not a good person. Why does he deserve to feel better if he’s not a good person?

_ Bad, you’re bad. You’re a bad person. You don’t deserve to be happy. You don’t deserve to have love, especially Derek. You’ve already lost your friends, next is going to be Derek, then maybe even your dad too! _

You’re thinking too much. That’s not all true. Derek loves you. He said he did. 

_ Yeah, him and his hormones. He could have decided to like anyone else and his hormones would make it happen. It was just by chance that you were the person he got attached to.  _

It’s easier to agree so it’s what he does. He looks around at the trees and thinks about how easy it would be to just walk away. He would be found eventually after a couple of hours once someone noticed that he was missing, but the idea of just up and leaving everything behind was tempting. 

Stiles turns around and walks back towards the lot. When his feet hit the grass again he walks into the center of the lot and lays down. The sun feels wonderful on his skin even though it’s getting colder as it gets later. 

Once he gets cold enough and shade and shadows make up most of the lot he gets back into his jeep and heads home.

As Stiles drives down his road towards his house he can see his dad’s patrol car in the driveway. This is not what he wants to deal with right now. The clock on his dashboard reads seven o’clock, and he knows his dad is probably wondering where he was because it doesn’t take over an hour for him to get back to their house from Dr. Mullen’s office.

Please let him leave me alone.

He walks inside and takes his shoes off, looking for his dad. He finds him in the kitchen and walks right past him, not responding to his dad’s question of how his day was. In the sanctuary of his room he lays on his bed and grabs the earbuds lying on his nightstand and plugs them into his phone. 

Stiles turns the volume up so that he can’t hear when his dad shouts at him that dinner is ready. He wouldn’t come down even if he had heard. The music washes over him and it’s like a temporary bandage for his soul. To be able to listen to the beats roll through his head and curl up under his layers of blankets on his bed lets him forget, if even for just a little while that his world is crashing down around him while he tries to smile through it all. 

The teen lays on his bed and he can tell when his dad opens his door and tries to talk to him but pretends to be asleep. He is also aware that his dad probably knows that he isn’t asleep under, but still lets him be and Stiles is very grateful for a small victory. He doesn’t think he could face his dad right now. 

Stiles stays that way until it’s late at night, close to midnight. He’s been listening to the same playlist on repeat for close to four hours, drifting in and out of sleep. Eventually he gets up and walks into his bathroom. 

He’s five days clean. Five days free from cutting. And that’s all thanks to Derek, but Derek isn’t here right now. He’s not here to tell Stiles that they can do something to distract him. Derek isn’t in his room telling him not to listen to all of those thoughts in his head. 

He lost one of his most treasured blades today. God he orders his freaking blades he really has lost it. The cuts that are already on his legs were relatively small to start with so they’ve formed thick scabs over them. 

The skin that doesn’t have open wounds is very limited but he makes do. Stiles grabs another blade and makes quick work of disrobing himself. 

The voices in his head are so annoying. Now technically they’re his own voices, his insecurities being vocalized in his mind, but it doesn’t make them any easier to ignore, if anything it might be harder. 

They pick at everything that happened during the day and analyze every little bit, thinking of what should have been done instead, how he could have fixed a situation or said something differently. How he could have not dropped his blade on his freaking therapist’s floor. 

The cuts he makes are sloppy, desperate to find this terrible craving curbed. They’re short and shallow, it hurts more after taking a break for a couple of days. 

He sits on the toilet lid for a little while longer, basking in the soreness that erupts every time he moves. Once they’ve stopped bleeding and there’s no stray trails of blood he hops on the scale and is disappointed with what he sees. 

Stiles puts his pajama bottoms back on and moves onto his bed, grabbing his laptop from his desk. He opens a tab that he has bookmarked. It’s a site comparing different types of diet pills. The most effective ones have caffeine in them which is okay, a couple of extra calories for an energy boost is fine. Maybe he won’t fall asleep in class anymore. 

It’s also okay because he isn’t taking his antidepressants. The chemical compounds aren’t suggested to be taken together. Really there’s not a reason to not buy the mega pack offered on the website. So that’s what he does. He punches in the information on his debit card and orders two day shipping. The extra fee is worth getting it sooner. 

Derek says that he’s not going anywhere but it’s just a matter of time before he sees someone else better, skinnier, more manly. At least Stiles can make sure that he will be the thinnest option available to Derek. It’s shallow, it really is to think that weight is more important than personality or morals or beliefs, but it’s what he focuses on. 

What would he be like if he wasn’t messed up? Would he be on the starting line for the lacrosse team?  _ Probably.  _ Would his grades be better?  _ Definitely.  _ What would he be willing to give up in order to have all of that back?

Do you want to get better? The questions nags in his head as he walks downstairs and passes the living room where his dad was watching the football game earlier. 

There’s a plate of spaghetti and meatballs at his place at their dining table. No sauce. He’s never liked the sauce. Stiles makes another mug of tea before carefully picking up his plate and balancing a fork on the top of the noodles. The least he can do is pretend to have eaten and bring the empty plate back downstairs, that way if his dad checks the garbage can in the morning there won’t be anything there. 

His footsteps are too loud as he walks into his room and sets the food on his cluttered desk. He does all of his homework half-heartedly and jumps in a cold shower as soon as he’s done before falling into his bed with that question still on his mind.

Do you want to get better?

 

Do I want to get better?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I went on a huge writing binge I already have 3k words for chapter 20! I am making no promises whatsoever because the last thing I want to do is disappoint someone. I hope to have it up within two weeks, but once again, no promises at all. Thank you all so much for the support and love. I know that I posted chapter 18 almost two months ago, but the fact that you all still come back here to read the updates means so much to me.  
> This chapter ended with some inner tension with Stiles but I've been trying to incorporate a therapy session into a chapter and it just fell in place. So that happened. Next chapter.......there shall be sexy times. I'll leave it at that.  
> Thank you all for the amazing support, if I have a bad day I honestly log on and look at the comments and it gives me some sort of purpose. Once again, if you're reading you might have experienced some of these things. What I do to Stiles I myself have done. The therapy session happens to be one that I remember very vividly because she asked me if I wanted to get better, and it was from there that I started to work on being good to myself.  
> So if you are experiencing, have experienced anything that's happened in this story, know that I am sending you lots of love and that you need to keep your chin up because even though you may feel small some days, you are so important and worthy of happiness. So go out in the world, listen to some Twenty One Pilots music (or whatever music you like), and believe that the future will be good and that you will be okay.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a confrontation at the Pawn Shop, there might be sexy shenanigans, and Derek finds something in the bathroom that makes his wonder if Stiles is hiding something from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild self-harm trigger, nothing that hasn't already been written about in here. You've all waited long enough for this so get reading! Tell me what you think, and this is my absolute first time writing anything including anything related to sex (except for that one dream Stiles had) so it may be a little rough, so bear with me!

The next morning he gets up so late he’s almost marked absent in his first period class. The teen has started carrying packs of mint gum around with him religiously. They curb his hunger and make his breath smell okay-ish if he’s had to throw up in the recent past. 

Stiles goes to the cafeteria with his friends but makes an obvious statement that he’s not suddenly going to start eating. He does get a tray that has a salad, an apple, and some milk. He doesn’t do much with the food but he does get it and every once in awhile when Scott glances at him he’ll take a small bite of something and chew for a long time, making it seem like he’s eating more than he actually is. 

He actually laughs when Boyd tells a joke at lunch and if he was paying better attention Stiles would have noticed how the rest of them share a hopeful look.

Math is once again him and Lydia answering all of the problems, and history is coach pointing out questions that he and Scott don’t know the answers to. 

The rest of his day flies by and before he knows it he’s pulling up google maps and typing in the address of the pawn store. They haven’t called in a week which means they have it and don’t want to tell him, or they’re just inconsiderate and didn’t let him know that they haven’t seen it. 

The building itself is shady, on the outskirts of the city with a crappy neon sign that says ‘open 24/7’. He walks in and only sees one other person who is talking with someone behind the counter. A large man walks up to him, wide shoulders with sandy brown hair, the type of person that you look at and think that they might have been something in a different world. He recognizes the voice as the man from the phone immediately.

“Hey kid, how you doin’?” Stiles doesn’t answer the common question, instead turning around in the small shop looking for where the jewelry would be.

“We don’t sell to minors so if that’s what you’re lookin’ for you’re in the wrong spot sonny.” 

Does he really look that young? He thought he was starting to look older.

“Um hi, no, not looking for drugs or whatever. I’m Stiles Stilinski, we talked a couple of times last week about a necklace I’m looking for.”

Realization dawns on the man and suddenly his stance is more aggressive. “I told you that I’d call if anything came in.”

“Yeah, I know but the other shops are crappier than this one so the probability that this person would have gone to either of them before this one is very unlikely because he unfortunately isn’t an idiot. So that leaves a few options. One, he lied and still has my necklace. Two, you have it and never called me. And how you just moved closer to the case behind you I’m going to go with my second assumption.”

Mr. Walker looks at him with barely contained anger. “Hey! That necklace came to us a few weeks before you even called here in the first place!”

Stiles nimbly walks around the large man, and there it is, sitting in the case, cleaned and shining like it was always supposed to. 

“You already had it which means you purposefully didn’t tell me.”

“Stilinski we can’t just take your word for this. Do you have any identification or proof that this piece here is actually yours? I’m not just gonna hand it over to you kid. I don’t care who your dad is.”

Identification? Oh fuck. The blood that was in his cheeks from anger quickly drains leaving him feeling faint. He doesn’t have anything to prove that this is actually his. “But it obviously is mine, I called in and reported it missing!”

“Papers, a receipt, a photograph of you with it even. I need something.”

“No! We bought it a long time ago!” This is not happening! He finally found it! This means so much to him. Martha and Bob’s funerals were just over a week ago and this necklace should have been in her casket.

“Please, you have to understand how much this means to me. It’s really important you can’t honestly believe that this isn’t mine!”

“You can get it but it’s going to be full price. It’s selling at three hundred right now and there’s a man coming to look at it sometime this week.” 

He doesn’t have three hundred dollars on him! The gates that he’s been building up around this piece of jewelry are cracking and he can tell he’s going to lose it soon.  Stiles takes a step back from the glass showcase and turns around, running his hands harshly through his hair. 

_ Fuck! _

“Do you have that type of money kid?” Mr. Walker crosses his arms and separates his legs, making himself more intimidating and it’s working. 

“No I don’t!” He practically shrieks at the older man. “I do not have three hundred dollars lying around in my back pocket!”

“I can hold it for a little while for you, but that’s all. Just a couple of days and then it’s out there again, okay? I’m sorry Stiles but that’s just how this works.”

“Well this is fucked up okay! That is so important to me and you’re telling me I need to find three hundred dollars to get it back?!” His hands clench in his hair and tug hard, the pain giving him some focus, some control over the situation.

“Hey calm down there, I’ll give you a few days. Ask some people you know, family, friends. They’ll usually help out.” Mr. Walker uncrosses his arms and starts walking towards the door, Stiles numbly following as he loses sight of the tiny diamond necklace. “Ask around kid, I’ll hold it for now.”

Stiles walks out of the shop and over to his jeep before screaming through clenched teeth and kicks his tires until his feet hurt and there might be a dent in the hood from where his fists repeatedly made contact with the same area. It’s all going to bruise later. When he thinks he’s okay to drive he hops in only to pound his hands into the steering wheel.

Why is life so terrible?

 

When he does manage to drive home the driveway is empty this time and he’s relieved. He doesn’t want to have to face his father right now. 

_ How are you supposed to look at your father and tell him that you can’t get back the necklace he bought for you to give to mom? How did you manage to ruin this too? You ruin everything! _

_ You don’t have three hundred dollars! You can’t tell your dad because that would just be putting one more thing on his plate. More money that he has to dish out for you. More money for something because you made a problem!  _

_ You can’t ask Scott because he works for his money and he’s helping his mom pay the bills! Lydia’s mom had to sell their lake house, they have no money to spare!  _

I could ask Derek

_ You will not ask Derek! He already thinks you’re weak and pathetic, the last thing he needs is for you to be mooching off of him! He will dump your sorry ass and take his hormones somewhere else to find someone better than you. _

Derek has a ton of money and you’re dating. I’ll pay him back. Get a job after school, it’ll be four weeks or so and I’ll have it all evened out again. 

_ You want to give him another example of how you can’t take care of yourself? You can’t stop cutting, you can’t eat a real meal, you cry all of the time, you throw up when you get nervous, you have panic attacks, you need to be coddled like a freaking baby, it’s a miracle he hasn’t already left! Are you trying to send him running for the hills? _

He said that he likes me.

_ Werewolf hormones. And if you ask for money, then he really won’t like you. It’s quite simple you dumbass. _

_ You are a stupid, dumb, fat, worthless excuse of a person who can’t get a handle on their own life! _

Stiles can’t handle his emotions, they’re raging from anxious, to anger, to sadness and anguish to fear and horror. It’s too many thoughts inside his head all screaming at him. He’s trying to calm himself down, breathing in and out but it’s not working. Why isn’t it working?! 

He runs into his bathroom and makes sure to lock the door behind him, not risking his dad coming home although he isn’t supposed to be back for another two hours. 

The routine provides only a fraction of the control he needs to feel right now. He needs to set himself straight. He  _ needs  _ this almost as much as he needs to breathe right now. Stiles takes his anger out on his own skin, Derek is going to be so upset. 

By the time he’s done the cuts don’t hurt anymore and his right hand is red.

_ Well ya done good there loser. Bravo, at least you’re not terrible at everything. _

Stiles gets himself up off of the floor and into the shower where under the cold water he lets his wound clot and wash off the caked blood that’s sticking to his skin.  

\---------------------------------------

 

It might as well be procedure by this point. Derek texts Stiles that he’s a couple of minutes out, he parks his car a couple of streets over and walks to the Stilinski household where Stiles waits at the door for him. Derek usually enters with a bright smile tugging him into a big hug, they close the door and head upstairs. But today is different. 

Stiles opens the door and Derek is already frowning. 

“You were almost at a week. What happened?” Derek is tugging Stiles upstairs already, a light but firm grip on his frail bruised hands. He doesn’t make eye contact until his bedroom door is shut and even then he looks up into sad green eyes.

He knew that Derek would be sad but he looks almost wrecked. “Why didn’t you call? I would have come over.”

_ He’s too good to you. You really don’t deserve someone as great as him.  _

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He’s embarrassed of himself, how quick he was to act. He always knows that after he cuts he’s going to be ashamed of what he did, he’ll feel guilty, but in those seconds where he’s deciding whether or not to grab his blade, cutting always seems like the right choice. 

“Stiles, it’s not going to do any good to-” 

“Can you please not be my therapist right now? Can you be Derek?” The immediate response is Derek pulling him into his strong arms and Stiles promptly melting into the support. 

“Sure” Derek says, understanding the need of comfort.

Stiles is fighting with himself; the contact and warmth is desperately needed after spending too much time with just himself, but touch means that Derek can feel all of his fat. In the end his anxiety wins and he pulls away after a minute of the reassuring and welcoming embrace. 

“What do you want to do?” Stiles asks looking around his room. There’s not a lot: his laptop, bed, desk, chess set, books, and some random trinkets on his dresser. Then there’s the large red yarn board with tacks and yarn and pictures with elaborate webs connecting it all. 

Derek looks at him before dramatically sighing and says, “I could go for a round of chess.”

Stiles snorts because of how terrible Derek is but appreciates the offer nonetheless and takes it for what it is. 

“It’s the wooden box on the top shelf in my closet.”

The werewolf opens the closet door and easily finds said box.

“I know we’ve played before but this set is really nice. How’d you get it?”

He thinks about the time he first unwrapped the board and pieces. “Scott and his mom got it for me a couple of years ago. It was a birthday present.” He knows that the set was expensive, and now feels bad thinking about their current relationship. They were so close, even just a few months ago. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Stiles puts on a fake smile that he thought was pretty well executed.

“Bullshit.” Stiles pulls back slightly from where he had been leaning forward. He can’t remember a time when Derek had even mildly cursed. “What are you thinking about?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it Derek.”

He looks frustrated at his answer but when he realizes how nervous and flustered Stiles looks he backs off and puts the chess set on the floor. “Okay, we won’t talk about it right now. But maybe later?” Derek knows that it’s a far shot but he wants Stiles to not have to bottle everything up.

“Yeah, maybe later” Stiles replies setting up the pieces, himself black and Derek white. 

Stiles starts the game but his mind keeps wandering to the money that he doesn’t have. He’s so inadequate that he doesn’t have enough money to get back the suddenly most important thing to him. Honestly he had forgotten about the necklace for a while. It sat in his dad’s room in a  jewelry box for years before they gave it to Martha.

But seeing it again reminded him of its importance. It reminded him of his mom, more importantly of their love. He couldn’t bear to know that he might lose it forever. But how exactly was he supposed to tell somebody that not only does he not have it, he has to pay hundreds of dollars to be able to get it back again?

_ You’re pathetic. You’re absolutely pathetic. _

With Derek sitting across from him on his bedroom floor he was reminded that

After just a little while it’s obvious that Stiles still can’t really concentrate, his fingers are constantly fiddling with the Derek’s pieces that he’s already taken. The other sign is that Derek has many more of Stiles’ pieces than he would usually have.

Derek pulls his eyes from the chess board and looks at Stiles until the teen looks up too.

“Well you clearly can’t focus. Do you want to do something else?”

He’s thinking over in his head all of the things he would rather be doing.

‘Kissing you would be pretty nice’ he thinks to himself and before he can stop himself from saying exactly that, the words are out of his mouth. 

_ Oh now you’ve fucked up.  _

_ Such a needy faggot, such a desperate, disgusting bitch. _

_ He’s gonna leave you! _

But moving with speed that can only be attributed to supernatural abilities, Derek pushes the game aside and has his large hand cupping Stiles’ cold cheek. Derek’s eyes find his and suddenly Stiles can understand the desire for having a relationship.

If it’s supposed to feel like this, like looking at the person you makes your breath catch and it’s okay, like you know that you’re valued. Because heaven knows that Stiles doesn’t really like himself that much, but seeing that Derek sees something in him, gives the gangly pale teenager’s little spark a boost.

“I think that kissing you would be pretty nice too” Derek says slyly with a bright smile, his eyes dancing as they bring their lips together. 

Derek is immediately leaning into him, bracing himself on his one arm as the other moves to the back of Stiles’ neck.

‘Huh. That couldn’t have gone much better’ Stiles thinks to himself,this time keeping his thoughts as an internal monologue. From just a couple of months ago thinking that Derek would never look at him twice, they’ve come quite a ways. 

And it is freaking amazing.

Stiles gives total control to Derek, resting his back against the end of his bed frame. It’s actually so nice that his brain can’t come up with anything nasty or degrading to say. He leans back and lets the frame support his weight as Derek moves closer, shifting his body but never parting their lips. 

Stiles lets out a small squeak when the werewolf bites his lower lip, pulling it gently between his own teeth. Derek chuckles and probes his lips, asking for permission. He immediately gives in and opens his lips, letting Derek’s tongue explore his mouth. 

It’s the first time they’ve really done it. Sure they’ve kissed and Stiles considered one time to be making-out, but this was different. 

There’s a certain underlying hint of desperation now, Stiles wanting to take everything Derek gives him, and Derek trying to express his adoration. It certainly succeeds in making Stiles forgot about what he was worrying over. 

Derek kisses him like it might actually be the end of the world, passionately and demanding. Stiles eventually starts to move of his own accord, his tongue cautiously slipping to Derek’s mouth, and wow is he inexperienced. He thought he wasn’t too bad from Lydia, but he has nothing on his boyfriend. 

After a few minutes biology starts to take over and Stiles realizes anatomy and sexual reactions, but he’s never had to deal with this with Derek right in front of him. Derek immediately notices and he chuckles, pulling back to peck their lips together. 

When Stiles looks at him again he’s reminded that Derek is only a couple of years older than he is. He’s radiant with his bright smile and confident demeanor. 

He shifts his body in an attempt to hide his growing erection but Derek’s large shoulders are in his way, preventing him from moving around too much. He blushes so hard that most of his blood volume has got to be in his cheeks at this point. 

Stiles makes a small frustrated sound, “Derek, really come’on.”

His boyfriend pulls away a little bit, giving him some more room. 

“Do you want to do anything about that?” he asks seriously, and it makes Stiles even more nervous. He hadn’t really planned on ever getting this far. Logically he knows that they’re dating, officially dating, but somehow whenever he thinks about sex, or anything he can’t see himself ever doing anything with Derek. 

Not because he doesn’t want to, god does he want to. But he figured that some act of life or fate would happen and it just wouldn’t ever get to this point. 

But here he is. With a straining erection in his tight jeans and a gorgeous man hovering over him. 

Do I want to do anything? Yes. Definitely. One hundred times over yes.

_ Yeah that’s great until the clothing comes off and he’s staring at you and realizing how disgusting you are. This will be your first and last time your dick is ever going to get some attention.  _

What if he doesn’t look…

_ And how exactly is that supposed to work? You really aren’t the brightest light bulb are you? _

He meets Derek’s inquisitive look and ducks his head again. This is so much more embarrassing than he had ever imagined. 

Derek takes it as a rejection and moves back a little bit. “We don’t have to do anything either, kissing was perfectly fine. We won’t do anything you don’t want.”

No! No goddammit he wants to be able to have a normal relationship, he wants to be able to deal with his erection and not freak out because of his inner demons, but it’s not like they really go anywhere. 

“I...um..I want to.” He can’t make himself look at Derek so he stares at the tan carpet by his knees. Derek has other ideas though because he nudges his chin up and kisses him again, this time tenderly, a promise that this will be okay however it turns out. 

“Just, um maybe don’t look?”

Derek looks a little confused for a second before he catches on to what Stiles is thinking. 

“You know that I think you’re absolutely perfect the way you are, right?” Derek glances at him and sits back on his heels, extending his arm towards Stiles. 

Stiles doesn’t answer but they both know what he’s thinking. 

_ The only thing you’re perfect in is the repulsive category. He just asked if you wanted him to get you off and now he’s already moving away. You have a knack for getting people to leave.  _

They stare at each other for a moment before Derek grabs his hand and pulls them both up so they’re standing. Stiles is super confused and still sporting a rather prominent bulge in his pants. 

Derek pulls him towards the bed answering his silent question, “I figured the bed might be a little more comfortable. Your carpet is fine and everything but I didn’t really plan on this happening on the floor.”

See? A reasonable explanation. 

_ It doesn't matter, you’re still disgusting.  _

Stiles giggles, a small cute, totally unintentional laugh and it makes a smile spread across Derek’s face. ‘This is how he should always be’ Derek thinks to himself, ‘he should always be laughing.’

Stiles’ knees hit the edge of his bed as Derek walks him backwards and he scoots himself until he’s lying on his back with Derek taking his socks off. Stiles laughs at that but decides that he should too, socks really do not belong on feet during sex shenanigans. 

Oh fuck, is this really happening? Yes, this is happening. Sex shenanigans are going to happen. 

Stiles is helpless to feel anything other than excitement and fear, and they don’t go well together in this context because they’re over different things. 

Excitement because it’s totally his first time, and Derek. 

Fear because what if he screws this up? What if he’s too fat? What if Derek hates his scars? 

God he has so many scars. What was he thinking? If he saw anyone with this many scars he’d be running for the hills. What if Derek leaves? He wouldn’t would he? Oh fuck what if he does leave? Will they be over? This is pretty much the only good thing in his life right now, he can’t lose this too. 

These thoughts race through his head in a matter of seconds and before he knows what’s happening Derek has crawled over him and is supporting his own body weight on his arms which are on either side of Stiles’ head. Derek looks him in the eye and asks one more time, “Do you want to do this?”

Before he could think about it anymore Stiles gushed out, “yes, please.”

_ You did not just agree to this _

‘Shut the fuck up!’ He physically grimaces for a second and wipes away his fear, his newfound boldness coming from someplace he doesn’t know about.

Derek is gentle as they start, and this is not like Stiles’ daydreams where it’s been hard and possessive, but this is better in every way. 

“We should probably lose the pants then” Derek suggests and Stiles has been blushing more in these past few weeks than ever before and it’s all due to guy right above him. 

“Might be helpful” Stiles chips in, rearranging himself so he’s more comfortable.

Derek stands up and taps on his sides and Stiles willingly lifts up his hips so Derek can slowly pull his jeans down his legs. The sudden lack of constraint has his erection throbbing and all he wants is some contact. 

Stiles does manage to process that his legs are very bare and Derek is seeing everything and it honestly frightens him, it’s honesty hour. His cuts from today have stopped bleeding but there’s a plethora of scars all over. Most prominent is the word FAT carved into his left thigh from that day Derek took him out to eat. 

When Stiles makes a choked off distressed sound and wriggles under the attention Derek notices and comes back to his senses. 

“Right, sorry, eyes up here” Derek assures him, pulling his gaze from the hateful marks on his skin. He wishes that he could remove each one and the pain behind it, make Stiles see how amazing and special he really is. 

The clothing amount on each of them is unequal and Derek thinks it might make Stiles feel better if he wasn’t the only one missing his pants. 

Stiles looks confused as Derek suddenly takes a step back and efficiently removes his own pants.

“Pants for pants, it’s only fair right?” Derek smirks.

“Pants for pants will make Stiles’ whole world better.” Stiles jests. 

“Gandi would be extremely disappointed in us” the larger man throws back at him with a now broad smile. 

“It’s still true though.”

It makes Stiles feel better to be on a slightly more even playing field, not that his body can even begin to compare to Derek’s.

When Derek does move up the bed to where Stiles is, it’s Stiles’ turn to initiate the kiss. It just feels right and for the first time in a long time, his happiness is outweighing his discomfort and nervousness. If this is how feelings are supposed to be he might be willing to take his pants off more often. 

This time the kiss is more urgent, and Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s broad shoulders and Derek keeps his eyes up where he promised he would. Derek at some point gets a thigh between Stiles’ legs and pushes them apart just a little bit more. 

What he wasn’t expecting was the warm large hand over his dick, cuping it through his underwear. The heat is one hundred percent thanks to the werewolf biology and it is glorious. 

Stiles keens into Derek’s open mouth as he presses down, and  _ there’s _ the friction he was waiting for. 

Stiles draws out a long, “fuuuuck” as everything is just feeling so good. He doesn’t keep quiet as Derek keeps up his ministrations. 

Derek stays true to his word and eyes are kept above his neck at all times. Stiles lays on his bed, taking in all of the sensations of Derek’s hand on his cock thinking about just how different this is than when he gets himself off. Derek starts to rub in earnest now and Stiles is harder than he ever knew he could be. 

“Fuck, oh fuck”

Derek rubs the pad of his thumb over the head of Stiles’ cock and swirls it around the sensitive area. The precome from his tip quickly soaks through his boxers and Derek can already smell the bitter liquid that’s pooling in the fabric. 

Just when the fabric over his sensitive member starts to become uncomfortable, Derek is using his strength to lift Stiles’ hips off of the mattress to pull his boxers down. Stiles’ erection is finally free and it arches on his stomach, an angry red revealing exactly how much Stiles is really liking this. 

“You’re so good Stiles, you’re so freaking beautiful.” Derek revels over the boy underneath him, voicing his adoration even if Stiles doesn’t fully understand his sincerity. “Do you have any lube?”

“Yeah, um the drawer in the nightstand.” Stiles isn’t able to put much thought into anything other than how good it feels as soon as Derek’s lubed fingers are dancing over his throbbing cock. 

Derek builds up a pace, starting slowly and gaining speed when he knows that Stiles is enjoying this. Stiles would be embarrassed if he could hear the sounds that he’s making, low whines and cut off profanities whenever Derek moves his wrist in just the right way.

Derek keeps up his ministrations, ignoring his own raging erection, in favor of making Stiles feel like he’s on cloud nine. He moves to sit back on his haunches and takes his other hand to tease at Stiles’ nipples underneath his shirt. 

Stiles’ body arches under Derek’s hands and he presses his hips forward towards Derek’s skilled hand. The sensation of Derek rolling his nipple, switching to ensure that both are well taken care of fuels the growing warmth and tension in his gut. 

All of Stiles’ thoughts are out of the door, replaced with the single thought of, ‘this is happening’. Derek’s hand is so different from his own, his fingers are larger and calloused, warmer and definitely better in every way. It only takes a few more minutes until Stiles knows that he’s about to come, the white pleasure on the brink of explosion. 

“D-Derek..I’m gonna..ah, I’m gonna come” Stiles pants out, his body not knowing which sensations to chase.

“It’s okay, let go” is spoken hurriedly and demanding as Derek quickens his pace and tightens his grip to the point of just being on the edge of hurting, but it just makes it even better.

Derek leans forward without ever slowing his rhythm and takes his hand that was on his chest to push Stiles’ neck to the side so the pale side of his throat is exposed. Derek dives in and attaches his teeth, which definitely are sporting some werewolf fangs, to the tender skin and starts to make what will be a bold hickey. 

Without any more warning than a choked off sound Stiles comes, spilling over Derek’s hand and his own stomach. 

Derek slowly drags his wrist, pulling out Stiles’ orgasm. Then he removes his hand and trying to avoid a huge stick mess, gently holds Stiles until his legs have stopped shaking and his body isn’t twitching anymore. 

Stiles comes back to himself just moments later. 

“Holy shit.” Stiles gapes at the ceiling, “That was not how I was expecting tonight to go”

Derek nips the sensitive skin on his throat before he kisses the dark mark.

“Not expecting...good or bad?”

Stiles huffs, still getting his bearings back again. “Good. Definitely good.”

Derek leans back and looks at his handiwork and his wolf keens in happiness. 

“Stay here, I’m just going to go grab a washcloth” Derek softly mutters to Stiles. 

“Okay, there’s one or two in my bathroom.”

Derek leans down and sweetly kisses Stiles’ lips before getting off of his bed and walking into the bathroom. He plans on cleaning him and Stiles up and then taking care of himself in the bathroom, not wanting Stiles to feel pressured to return the act. 

The bathroom isn’t large but it’s not small either. Enough room for the bathtub and walking space. The smell is what bothers Derek though. It smells like antiseptic and blood. Stiles has clearly tried to cover up what he’s done, and while it may work on his dad, Derek can tell everything that’s happened in the recent past. 

His once prominent erection flags with the understanding of how much pain a person must be in to do this to themselves. He opens several drawers when he doesn’t see any washcloths out on the shelves or in the shower. 

He sees what he expected, toothpaste, toilet paper, bandages and gauze pads. But the bright color orange buried in the back of one of the drawers draws his attention. When he moves the containers and other things out of his way he can tell that it’s a large bottle of pills. Yellow and pink capsule pills, the label reading  _ Anafranil _ .  The script is for 120 pills and the bottle looks half empty. 

So Stiles has been taking his medicine? Derek opens the bottle and quickly shuts it again. The pills smell horrible, not that a human would probably notice, but to a werewolf they smell acidic, so much that it hurts his nose. 

Stiles hasn’t mentioned taking any medicine before and he definitely would have noticed the smell on his boyfriend. Derek gets a sinking feeling that he tries to push out of his mind. 

Stiles is sick but he wouldn’t not take the medicine that’s supposed to help him feel better, right? He quickly puts everything away and grabs a washcloth and wets it with warm water before walking out into Stiles’ room. 

The younger man is already asleep but wakes up when the first touch of the warm washcloth touches his stomach. 

Stiles looks up sheepishly, “I dozed off on you, sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for” Derek whispers into the gentle warmth between them. 

Derek kisses Stiles to confirm his suspicion. His mouth doesn’t smell like that medicine at all, only mint bubblegum. 

Derek tries to convince himself that the gum might just be masking the scent of the pills, but he knows that it’s a weak hope. Stiles beams up at him, his bright eyes showing a little more life than they usually do and Derek decides to bring the medicine up again later. 

Stiles leans forward when Derek has finished running the cloth over his skin, cleaning up the come on his body. He goes to reach for Derek’s hand to drag him onto the bed too but quickly lets go as soon as he sees that the werewolf is not longer sporting his previously very apparent erection. 

_ He gets you off and then he gets himself off, doesn’t even want you touching him.  _

For once he doesn’t even have a response to the voice inside his head. What other option is there?

_ Or...here wait, this is the best theory yet! He got you off and then he realized what he did and how much of a freak you are and was so disgusted that his boner went away.  _

_ That’s probably what happened.  _

_ And you know it.  _

The visual evidence isn’t pointing anywhere else and it’s extremely embarrassing to know that he’s ugly enough to turn Derek off. No it’s more than embarrassing, it’s humiliating. 

He’s  _ not  _ going to cry dammit! He’s ugly and fat but he doesn’t have to be pathetic too! So what if his eyes get a little misty?

Derek is confused by his whirlwind of emotions but is able to quickly figure it out. He tosses the washcloth through the bathroom door where it lands in the bathtub to be dealt with later. 

“Stiles?” He asks as Stiles’ bony back is turned to him, quickly getting dressed in several layers and two pairs of socks. He huffs and sits in the desk chair and waits until Stiles tries to walk past him before he grabs his arm, careful to avoid the mysteriously bruised wrist. Improv time. 

“You were asleep, what else was I supposed to do?”

_ What? You were asleep for only a second. What was he supposed to do? _

Stiles looks up from his cold feet to find gentle eyes staring at him. When he doesn’t talk Derek starts again, with a soothing voice that he tries to put some humor into. 

“I’m assuming all of this because you aren’t talking to me...but if you were thinking about... _ that _ , I just didn’t want to wake you up.”

_ Didn’t want to wake you up? _

Derek looks at him sheepishly and his cheeks start to turn red.

_ Erection.  _

_ Didn’t want to wake you up.  _

_ Bathroom for washcloth.  _

_ No erection. _

_ …..Oh  _

Oh my god. He had been overthinking this whole thing and now when Stiles looks up he has a dopey smile on his face. Because he didn’t disgust Derek or turn him off, he just fell asleep. 

Derek nervously laughs and it’s one of the most adorable things Stiles has ever heard. 

“You didn’t want to wake me up so you…”

“Yeah…”

“Oh my god Derek” Now Stiles is outright laughing because he’s won this round. So fuck you negative thoughts.

Derek’s own laugh is a little more forced but he’s willing to lie just this once to avoid a catastrophe. But when he dives in to kiss Stiles again, he’s not faking any of that. 

After another kiss Stiles pulls away and starts picking up the chess set on the floor, his hands and wrists showing when the sleeves of his sweatshirt ride up. 

“What are those bruises from?”

Honesty he knew that this was coming and he’s a surprised that Derek managed to wait before asking for so long. 

Stiles reaches up to put the chess set away and looks at his hands. They’re looking pretty bad, the buising finally showing itself in all its glory. 

“I may have hit or punched my jeep a few times.” He sheepishly explains. “But if you think this is bad” he gestures to his hands, “ you should see the jeep.”

Derek sighs and laughs internally, leave it to Stiles to try and make everything less serious. He grabs Stiles’ wrists and pulls some of the pain, just a dull, annoying throbbing ache. 

“And why did you punch your car?”

“Jeep. Don’t call it a car, there’s a difference. And I may have been frustrated.”

“Over…?” Derek prys. 

How can he phrase this to not set Derek off with worry? “Just some bad news.” There, simple and truthful so there’s no worrying about his heartbeat. 

Stiles makes himself busy by grabbing his laptop from his backpack and setting it on his nightstand. 

Derek looks slightly confused at the vagueness of the answer, but Stiles is okay with that. He doesn’t need to know. 

_ Because then he would try and pay for it and then he would realize that you don’t have a vault full of money underneath the school and then he would be annoyed that you can’t take care of your own financial stuff. Then he’ll realize everything else that’s wrong with you and then he’ll leave you and then you’ll be all alone, you’ll go off the deep end, you’ll never find someone else and you’ll have a pathetic life and you’ll disappoint your dad and everyone else and you’ll die alone.  _

It’s rather insane how fast his brain can go from calm to plotting his absolute demise. 

“Anything that I can do to help?”

“No, I want to take care of this one by myself.” Also not a lie. 

They arrange themselves on Stiles’ huge beanbag chair and pull up Netflix, now one of their favorite ways to spend time together. Derek wraps Stiles up in his comforter and tucks him into his side as they watch the laptop screen. Every now and then Derek will lean down and kiss his head or sniff him, which just has to be a weird werewolf thing. 

He thinks to himself the question his therapist asked him. Do I want to get better?

Stiles snuggles in deeper and thinks that he might be willing to fight for this. He might get better for this.

As they watch Walter take the loads of money that he’s hidden in the house Stiles gets an idea. 

He’ll take the money from the jar in the kitchen. He keeps ten dollars in the jeep’s glove compartment for emergencies, and this is an emergency. He’s only got a few dollars in his wallet but he can probably find the bank information to the account his dad set up for him for college if he really needs to. 

Sean is not going to ruin his life. This will work. It has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, just to be clear, Derek did lie to Stiles about the disappearing boner. And what about the medicine? And the money for the necklace? Mr. Walker is a major dickhead. So many things are going to happen in the following chapters and it's going to be Amazing! I cannot thank all of you enough for your kind words and encouragement to take care of myself. And hey, technically this is posted before midnight so I kept my promise!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a huge confrontation between Stiles and Mr. Walker. Stiles messes up really badly and can't go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late. Shorter chapter. Sorry. Very close family friend passed away the day I was supposed to update.

Eight days later, several new bruises and a few select cuts, and three pounds lighter, Stiles has made up his mind. The decision to skip school the next day is extremely easy. While Stiles got a great night’s sleep, thanks to Derek lying with him until his dad got home, darkness doesn’t fully base itself on an understanding of convenience. 

He does three workout videos and stretches in the shower afterwards, and he can feel lighter already. The scale isn’t his enemy, it’s a tool to help him be better. 

He hops in bed and waits for the cruiser to pull out of the driveway and then he gets ready.

When the school calls to alert his dad of his absence he lets it go to the answering machine and then deletes the message. Stiles gets dressed and goes straight to the kitchen.The jar on the counter suddenly seems dangerous and Stiles starts to second guess his plan. 

_ It’s the only way. _

This is so wrong.

_ Just do it! _

Stiles quietly opens the jar, even though he’s the only one in the house. His frail hands pull out all of the money in the old jar and he quickly runs upstairs and back into his room. 

The money ends up being close to $180. They haven’t touched this jar in so long, the most recent time was when he needed the money for his co-pay. But that’s a good thing, because they haven’t had a reason to use it so his dad isn’t going to look in there any time soon. 

One hundred and eighty dollars is a lot, but still not enough. Add in the $15 he has and he’s almost to $200. 

Just call Derek for christ’s sake! He’ll understand and he said that he’ll do anything to help.

_ No. You’re going to do this by yourself. You got yourself into it and you’re going to get yourself out of it! _

It’s not a big deal...

_ I said no! _

Then there’s no other choice, he won’t call Scott and Derek isn’t an option. Asking anyone else would just cause more questions so he goes into his dad’s office downstairs. 

The safe is electronic and fire-proof and he knows that it also has all of their important information. Stiles walks into the back corner of the room and crouches down and pushes the numbers he knows by heart. His mom’s birthday and then his own. 

The bank information is in a folder with the rest of his financial papers. He takes a quick picture of the paper with his account number and security questions. His bony knees hurt from the hardwood floor of his dad’s office. 

Stiles runs around his house with as much energy as he can muster, grabbing everything he could possibly ever need. 

_ “Papers, a receipt, a photograph of you with it even. I need something.”  _

Remembering the owner’s small speech Stiles goes upstairs again and gingerly opens his drawer in his desk. And there it is…

His picture of his mom is in the box and he carefully takes it out, watching so he doesn’t damage the photo. Sliding it into his wallet Stiles closes the drawer and finally makes it outside to his jeep. 

It’s sunny outside, but not hot enough for him to actually be warm. When he sticks his hand out of his window as he drives, the wind feels great between his fingers. 

Surprisingly his head is quiet, and he sings along softly with the radio. 

Stiles is determined. Not in a self-destructive way like he usually is, but in a way that makes him feel powerful, like he can actually do something right. 

He pulls into the bank parking lot and drives around to the service screens, the ones with the vacuum tubes so he doesn’t have to go inside and face questions of why he isn’t in school. 

Con of a small town: everyone knows everyone. 

Stiles fills out the blue paper slip and writes a withdrawal for $220 just in case he needs extra money to negotiate with. 

He turns his head away slightly when the teller appears on the screen and asks how his day is going. He responds and fiddles with the volume knob on his radio, pretending to be fascinated with what the stations are playing. 

When he slides his wallet back into his pocket, it feels heavier. His heart feels heavier. 

One thing Stiles hasn’t been able to historically deal very well with is multiple emotions at once. He usually gets overwhelmed and then does something he tends to regret. His typical response is to stop eating and start cutting. 

_ This is  so wrong. _

_ This is the only option.  _

_ What if this doesn’t work. _

_ It will work. _

_ It has to.  _

_ You’ll find a way to mess it up.  _

_ Just drive.  _

A terse fifteen minute drive just escalates the war inside his mind. But he’s determined. He has the money and extra and it’s been less than a week and a half since he was here last. 

Stiles quietly turn the ignition off and shuts his door, looking around at his surroundings as he locks the jeep’s door and walks across the small parking lot. 

The parking lot is cracked and there’s some random concrete chunks piled up in the back of the lot. The shifty brick building has weeds growing around the edges and the neon sign’s number 7 is now flickering, making that buzzing sound where you expect the glass to burst at any moment. 

His confidence is gone. 

The door has stickers all over it and a bell rings as he enters the shop. It’s much more lit than the last time he was here since it’s currently before noon. There is nobody visible but within seconds Mr. Walker saunters into the main showroom and looks up from his newspaper crossword puzzle.

His face shifts from indifference to anger to regret to sorrow and to annoyance in just a split second as he recognizes Stiles. 

_ This isn’t going to work. _

This isn’t going to work. 

_ This isn’t going to work.  _

“Stiles was it?” Mr. Walker asks, placing his puzzle down on the glass counter near the cash register. 

Stiles looks up and makes eye contact, and he wishes that he didn’t. 

There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that feels like he swallowed a boulder and it’s crushing him from the inside out. 

“Yes sir, Stiles Stilinski.” He’s not looking at the middle-aged man who smokes a pack a day based off of the smell of the shop. Instead he’s looking at the glass case with his necklace.

With  _ her  _ necklace. 

“Look, Stiles. I’m really sorry son but we weren’t sure when you were going to be swingin’ in again and it’s been over a week. You’ve gotta to understand here, last time you came in you didn’t have the money and you didn’t exactly make it sound like you could come across that much to buy the necklace.” 

It would be preferable to fall into the center of the earth and burn up than to listen to what this man is saying. It would be much more humane to die than to look over into that glass case and take a step towards it, knowing in your heart that what you need isn’t there. 

_ It’s gone. You know it is. It’s gone.  _

Mr. Walker quietly gets out of his way as the pale and tired teen walks towards the jewelry case with an unseen universe on his shoulders. 

And there it isn’t. 

The area where his mom’s necklace was displayed is now empty. No trace that it was ever there. Stiles turns around, tears forming against his will as he looks at the sad excuse for a man. 

“What did you do?” he whispers. When Walker doesn’t answer Stiles can’t keep it inside any longer. 

Stiles starts to cry hideous sobs as he screams at the shop owner, “What did you do?! What the fuck did you do?!”

Walker starts to explain but has to start again as he’s taken aback by the teen’s sudden anger. 

Stiles can see the look of disgust on Mr. Walker’s face as he assesses the situation at hand: one present and extremely emotionally distressed teenager and one not present simple diamond necklace with an unknown significance. 

“We held on to it for five days for ya kid and ya never came back. We did our part and waited, not our problem that you never showed.”

_ It’s gone.  _

_ IT’S GONE _

_ IT’S GONE _

_ IT’S GONE _

“You should have called me! You should have called!”

_ You lost it again _

_ Again _

_ Again _

“Hey, calm down kid, it’s just a necklace, you can get another one. I actually have another one in the case-”

“I don’t want another necklace, I  _ need  _ that one!”

Mr. Walker takes a step between Stiles and his showcase and walks towards Stiles, getting up into his space which just makes Stiles even more agitated. 

“Listen, a guy came in the other day and said he was getting a gift for his girlfriend. He had more than enough to cover the price. End of story Stilinski.”

Stiles harshly wipes away his tears with the back of his hand and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. 

He reaches into his wallet, which is worn and torn at the edges, and pulls out his picture. He shoves it towards Mr. Walker and resumes yelling at him. 

“You see this? You told me to bring a picture! Do you know who this is?” 

Stiles keeps talking and doesn’t give him a chance to talk back. “It’s my mom, my dead mother, and your know what’s around her neck? That’s the necklace that you just sold to some stupid dick who wants a present for his girlfriend because he probably fucked another girl and wants her back so he can get laid tonight!”

Mr. Walker moves from in front of Stiles over to the counter with the cash register.

“I don’t want your fucking money! I need to know who has my necklace! Your small brain probably can’t comprehend how important this is, but I  _ need _ it back! You need to get it back before I call my dad!”

Walker moves next to the phone by the register and picks it up, ready to dial at any moment. “Son, the only person who’s going to be calling your dad is me if you don’t get out of my shop in the next thirty seconds.”

“Why did you do this to me?! I have the money! Make him bring it back!” Stiles sobs, a hand on his stomach because it hurts so much and he feels like he’s going to be sick even though he hasn’t eaten anything today. 

“Boy listen here, it’s business. It’s not personal. I can’t give you the name. And you’ve better get yourself out of this shop before I call the station and your dad has to send someone out here.”

“Mr. Walker, you don’t understand! It’s not my fault that you fucked up and it’s not my fault that you need to fix this now! What is his name?!” Stiles slammed his fists on the nearest glass case and it cracked, forming a spiderweb pattern. 

Walker quickly dialled the station and that’s when it all sank in. 

Stiles realized everything that he has just done. 

_ You are in way over your head. You really fucked up this time you freak. You gay, fat, worthless, freak. Your dad is going to hate you.  _

Stiles couldn’t hear the phone conversation but from the way Walker looked, it wasn’t all about exchanging pleasantries.

Mr. Walker looked right at Stiles when he mentioned that he wanted an officer to come down so he could press charges against him. 

His

Heart

Stopped

Beating

Stiles suddenly lost all of his fight and anger and just collapsed on the floor, heavy sobs reaching from the bottom of his chest made their way out of his mouth and they didn’t stop for several minutes. 

It was only when Mr. Walker’s shoes appeared in his line of sight that he stopped crying and scrambled to his feet, taking one last look at the damaged case and the pure hatred seething off of the man. 

_ What did you do?  _

_ What Did You Do? _

Stiles ran out of the store and frantically unlocked his jeep, getting into the driver’s seat, peeling out of the parking lot. 

_ You can’t go home _

The first thing he did was shut off his phone.

Stiles drove for hours. The afternoon turned into night and his head was dangerously quiet. He sat with the windows all down as the freezing air rushed over his small frame. 

All he wanted was to be back in his room, buried under mountains of his blankets that managed to keep him warm. 

But his blankets weren’t there, and he wasn’t at home, and Derek wasn’t here, and he had a metal blade that was seeming pretty comforting with every passing second.

Stiles felt so much nothing that he decided that he needed to feel something real for a change. 

He goes a few towns over and pulls up to a sketchy corners liquor store where his classmates go because they don’t i.d. 

Stiles walks into the store, not making eye contact because he’s already going to be in an unfathomable amount of trouble when he finally sees his dad at some point, the last thing he needs is to be spotted buying Jack Daniels. 

He isn’t stupid enough to drink and drive, so he drives sober to the woods where they all went that one night looking for Sean. 

He turns the headlights off and rolls up the windows after pulling into the empty lot near the trees so he’s invisible from the road. 

Stiles leaves his phone and sweatshirt in the jeep, he doesn’t deserve to be warm and he doesn’t want to face what he’s done. 

Putting the bottles in his backpack he treks into the woods until he’s too tired to walk anymore. 

Stiles sits down on the cold ground and stares up at the stars that he can see through the trees. 

He drinks himself into oblivion and when he finally feels warm he digs out his wallet. The little shiny blade falls out into his palm. 

Stiles wastes no time in rolling up his sleeves and cutting into his upper arm. Never the wrists because sleeves can roll up and they’re hard to cover without seeming strange in the summer. Not to mention gym class. 

Stiles also doesn’t allow himself to cry when he hurts himself, but he indulges this time because he’s messed up so bad. 

There’s no way that he’s getting out of this one. 

The alcohol numbs some of the pain but it just makes him cut deeper. And dammit it hurts so much on his arm. 

The blade initially breaks through his skin and he holds it in place, feeling his nerves scream at him to take away the pain, but that’s when he pushes in deeper. And it’s also when the tears stream down his face and he can’t hold back the sobs. 

It’s also the moment when Stiles wishes that he could disappear and never come back. 

He wishes that he was never born because his mom would be alive, his dad would be happy, Scott could have a normal friend, Derek could find a werewolf mate, the lacrosse team would win more, his teachers wouldn’t have to deal with him, Mr. Walker’s display case would be perfect, Lydia would be dating someone that she could actually stand to be with, Isaac wouldn’t be hurt by his harsh words, Alison could have her boyfriend all to herself, Melissa wouldn’t worry about him, his therapist could see another patient that actually showed some interest in getting better. The world would be better off without him. 

It’s all a great idea except for the fact that he’s too scared to kill himself. So instead he makes another cut, parallel to the other, and then another one, and another until he’s starting to feel cold again, and his cuts hurt, and he’s alone in the forest without his phone or a flashlight. 

And Stiles feels more alone than he ever has, because he’s ruined everything that he’s managed to somehow hold onto. 

It’s all gone now. 

 

So he falls asleep on the cold, hard ground, covered in leaves and dirt with mosquitoes biting at his exposed flesh. He sleeps fitfully and at one point he rolls over and is almost concerned about a noise close to him that could be a bear or something, but he closes his eyes and prays for mother nature to do her worst. 

 

Her worst seems to be a rainstorm that hits around what Stiles would guess to be three in the morning. He’s so cold and wet, and his throat hurts, but he just lays back down and falls asleep. Hoping that maybe the next time he won’t wake up. 

 

The third time that he wakes up is to the fog in the woods and minimal sunlight breaking through the dense clouds. Stiles props himself up and gasps at the deep, sharp pain in his arm. He looks at what he’s done and realizes that if anyone finds these, he’ll need to get stitches. 

The wet and cold teen throws the bottle of alcohol against a tree and is satisfied when the glass shatters and lays on the ground, reflecting some light into the fog. 

He looks around and grabs his wallet which has his blade that he must have put back at some point. There’s also a plain piece of paper folded where his money should be, but all of his cash is gone. The blue ink has run down the paper because of the rain but the sloppy handwriting is still legible.

Stiles apprehensively reads the words, “You’re too delicate to be out here all alone, somebody might do something bad. Thanks for the cash, good luck getting home Pretty Boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be mean. I'm struggling a lot.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy that I got this chapter out in about 2 1/2 weeks. Already working on the next one. Still a little bit shorter, about 4k but it's still good. I added the tag for internalized homophobia because I've been rereading my work and I think it's better to have it there for cautionary purposes to make sure that everything's covered. I'll confess/admit that my work depends greatly upon my mood, so this chapter is going to be hectic and so is the next one. A lot of Stiles getting chewed out for his actions. Don't fear there will be lots of comforting in about two chapters. Just so you know there will be a period of time where Stiles does try to kill himself, but it won't work. This is all in the tags but I wanted everyone to know so I don't get mean comments saying that they're tired of how sad Stiles is all the time. He has depression, an eating disorder, and a serious problem with self-harm. It can't all be sunshiny and happy because it isn't truthful or realistic. Just a heads-up. In the end there's a happy story so if you're getting done with the sad please know that there will be happiness and things will all work out in the end, it's just a process like it is in real life.

He leaves the paper on the wet ground and starts walking towards what he hopes is the parking lot where his jeep is.

The note rings in his head the whole time. It was Sean, his money is gone, and most of it wasn’t even his money, and he’s lost in the middle of the woods.

Stiles ends up wandering hopelessly around for quite a while until he reaches a trail and follows it back to the road. Now freezing and hungover Stiles walks for miles until he gets back to his jeep. As soon as he gets close to his jeep he notices that his tires are slashed. All of them. 

_ Good luck getting home Pretty Boy _

This time he doesn’t want to cry, but everything is just too much. So he sits cold in his jeep and takes off his shirt and puts on the dry sweatshirt. Stiles turns on his phone and immediately is bombarded with messages, most from his dad, several from Derek, and a few from Scott. He also has eleven missed calls from his dad and four from Derek.

He’s so screwed. Stiles turns on his jeep to get the vehicle warm and watches as the messages keep coming in every few minutes. 

It’s only nine thirty in the morning but it’s a school day, he’s a criminal, and he’s disappeared off the face of the earth for the better part of a full day. 

_ You can’t go home _

_ You can’t call Derek _

_ You can’t call dad _

_ You can’t call Scott _

Then Derek calls. Stiles holds his breath and doesn’t breathe for the whole conversation. But he must have spoken at some point because twenty minutes later Derek’s camaro pulls into the muddy lot and a large hand is opening his door and those hands turn off the jeep and pick him up from his seat. He protests for a split second before Derek tells him to ‘shut up’.

_ You’re so heavy, must be hurting his arms. Why does he always carry you? Probably because he thinks that you’re an invalid. You’re going to break his arms.  _

The car is warm and his seat heater is already on but the coldness doesn’t leave his bones. 

“What were you doing out in the woods, all alone, in the freezing rain? I called four times Stiles and it went to voicemail every single time!” Derek looks at him with uncontained worry and anger. “You can’t just do that Stiles! What if something had happened to you?”

Stiles keeps his head down and stares at his soaked and muddy shoes. He doesn’t have another pair with him. 

_ What if something had happened to you? Well first of all we wouldn’t be having this little introspective discussion, and second who would care? _

“I wouldn’t have been able to find you if you didn’t pick up your fucking phone. We all went out and looked for you but it was so damp and then it started raining in the morning and I couldn’t catch your scent and there was nothing else I could do!” Derek’s anxiety is palpable and his nails are claws.

Stiles says, “sorry” only because he knows that it’s what you’re supposed to say in a situation like this. 

“Don’t say you’re sorry when you keep making these self-destructive choices. If you were really sorry you wouldn’t have gone off and gotten drunk in the middle of the woods, while there’s a wendigo out there, who for all I know wants you dead, and disappeared for a whole day just to answer the phone and not give me any sort of explanation. If you are really sorry I want you to promise to me right now that you’ll take care of yourself and stay safe.”

That’s a promise he can’t keep and they both know it.

Stiles looks out his window and it sounds like Derek mutters, “That’s what I thought.”

He wishes that the floor of the car would disappear and he would fall onto the road. He can’t stand the disappointment and knowing that Derek deserves someone who isn’t such a problem. 

_ He probably doesn’t even love you anymore. If he ever did in the first place.  _

“I’m sorry.” It’s all that he can say because he has no excuse and he won’t make that promise. There’s a loud huff from Derek as they keep driving, the trees turning into houses and lawns still covered in morning dew.

Just as Derek gets ready to launch into another speech he smells the distinct saltiness of tears. Stiles is crying. Not the attention grabbing type of crying where it makes everyone turn their heads to see what’s wrong. This is the opposite type of crying where he’s trying to hide his tears from everyone around him. His chest is heaving silently with broken sobs Derek can’t hear. Derek comes back to his senses some more and he is overwhelmed with the pheromones Stiles is giving off. He reeks of anxiety and sadness. And fear. 

The werewolf decides not to push anymore, he’s gotten his point across. He looks down at the steering wheel and consciously changes his claws back into nails. Derek puts his hand on Stiles’ thigh, but when the teen tenses up he grabs Stiles’ hand and holds it on the center console. 

Stiles manages to stay quiet for the entirety of his panic attack, finally leaning heavily on the side of the door and window, exhausted. 

Stiles assumes that they’re going back to his house but he’s surprised when they go into the town and park in the loft’s lot. Derek leads him up the stairs and out of the rain. He doesn’t argue because he’s tired and now he has a cough and his head is still pounding.

Everything’s a blur as Derek strips him from his wet clothes and sweatshirt and wraps him up in several blankets on his giant bed while he disappears into the bathroom. 

Stiles can hear a bathtub being filled, and Derek carries him into the bathroom and slowly puts his frail body into the hot water. He’s so ashamed at the scars littering his body. A few days ago he cut on his stomach. He had to wear dark shirt for the whole week so if there was any bleeding nobody would be able to tell. He hates the old white scars, some wide and some thin. He hates the light pink scars that should have faded by now and he definitely hates the dark pink ones that border on red, the ones that have just finished closing up. But Stiles can’t make himself look at his shoulder or his legs, so he stares at his knees. 

If he can’t even look at himself, why does Derek look at him? It’s not fair that Derek has to put up will all of the shards of what used to be a vibrant person. How can Derek look at his skin and not push him away and walk out of the bathroom?

_ You’re repulsive _

The first thing that Derek does is sigh as he takes in the deep cuts on his arm. With the information Scott was able to give him about the past 24 hours Derek seems to accept the fact that the cuts on his human boyfriend’s skin are expected. He asks as calmly as he can, “Where is it?”

Stiles could pretend to play dumb but he knows that it isn’t the safest route. Eventually it wages a war inside his mind between telling the truth and having it off of his chest and keeping control over his life. Either way he takes too long and Derek’s large warm hand it turning his face towards him so he can look him in the eyes. Derek asks one more time, “Where is it Stiles?” and he finally gets his answer. 

“In my wallet.” Stiles’ reply is angry, angry because he knows what Derek is going to do and angry at himself for giving it up and angry for being relieved because it’s going to get thrown out.

It infuriates Derek to know that Stiles practically has his blade on him at all times, easily in reach whenever he thinks he needs it. He plans on getting that wretched piece of metal and getting rid of it and anything else that Stiles could use, in the loft and at his own house. The cuts are deep and he should really bring Stiles to the hospital but fuck this. Because he’s been through a lot of shit and now his boyfriend is cutting his skin whenever he feels like he needs to and he’s only 21 years old and he’s on his own trying to figure everything out. 

 

Derek’s torn between two choices, not telling anyone about Stiles’ destructive self-harm, and telling his dad. But it isn’t as clear cut as all of the online articles and forums say it is. As the warm water moves around his hands he makes himself a deal. One more week, one more week and if Stiles isn’t getting better, he’ll tell John and get him more help. 

But they can start with Stiles taking his medicine. He can’t give up on Stiles now, he knows that the teenager is more than his problems and he doesn’t want to reduce Stiles to a psychiatric diagnosis. 

 

Derek takes a clean washcloth and gives Stiles a warning that ‘this is going to hurt’ as he takes the cloth and pushes it into the cuts to get out the dirt and debris that’s accumulated there. It isn’t gentle and it does hurt but Stiles stays quiet because he deserves it. Just as he goes to slip into silence again Derek hums a tune to try and distract the teen from the pain being leached out of his body. And everything hurts less which is such a relief. 

He may hurt himself but there’s only so much that he can stand, and not all pain is welcome.

There’s a few tense seconds before Derek resumes washing his upper arm and then washes his hair and head, and then he even washes the rest of his body which feels very numb and detached. 

Sitting in the bathtub Stiles asks a quiet question, filled with fear of the unknown.

“Do you hate me?”

The answer is also quiet, but certain.

“No.”

“Are you angry at me?”

“No.”

“What are you thinking?”

Derek hesitates before telling the truth. 

“I’m worried about you and I’m scared that this isn’t something that I can help you with.”

Stiles waits another minute before asking another question. This one quieter than the previous ones. 

“Do you still love me?”

Derek takes a moment and stops gently running the washcloth over his neck and shoulders. 

“Yes, of course I do.”

Then he resumes washing Stiles and when the water starts to get cold Derek drains the tub and wraps him in large towels that have red dots on them when they are pulled off of his body. 

Derek turns on the tv in his room and sits Stiles on his bed while he grabs extra clothes. 

Stiles doesn’t feel much of anything besides shame, guilt, and fear which totally consume him, paralyzing him besides for the simple tasks Derek asks him to do. 

Stiles is dressed in several shirts and a sweatshirt, two pairs of sweatpants, and even more layers of socks, and then tucked under the sheets, Derek acting as his own space heater. 

He passes out to the news channel playing quietly on the tv. 

He doesn’t notice when Derek gets up and calls Scott to let him know that he has Stiles, or even calls his dad to let him know that he’ll bring Stiles home when he wakes up and that he’s okay, but probably has a cold. Derek calls for a tow truck to pick up the jeep because he noticed that tires and that's probably the only reason Stiles was still there. 

Stiles does wake up later in the day when Derek is gently pushing his unharmed shoulder and calling his name. 

“Stiles, you need to go home. Your dad is worried about you and mad at me for not bringing you straight home. And you need to go see a doctor…..so I’m gonna drive you home and make sure you’re okay and talk to your dad.” 

_ You can’t go home. You’ve messed everything up. Dad said not to cause more trouble. You’re going to get him fired. He’s going to hate you. He already does hate you. He’s always hated you. You’re bad. Worthless. Trouble. Good for nothing, annoying, fat, depressed, mental, faggott. Dad’s going to know you’re a foggott.  _

He really doesn’t want to go home. He can’t go home. His dad hates him and he’s screwed up everything that he could have screwed up. 

Stiles starts crying and Derek looks at him sadly. It hurts to see his boyfriend in pain knowing that there’s nothing he can do to fix it. This isn’t his situation, it’s between Stiles and his dad. All he can do is tell Stiles that he still loves him and that he’ll be waiting. 

“D-D-Derek, I can’t go … go home. M-my dad hates me and oh god...I-I’ve messed up so bad th-this time Derek.”

All Stiles gets is a sad smile and a kiss on his forehead before he’s swept off of his feet and carried outside and the the car. On another day he might find it annoying and also kinda cute, but right now it’s only a reminder of how broken everything is. 

“Everything will work out. It’ll be okay, I’m here for you Stiles.”

They pull up at the Stilinski household way too soon and John is waiting under the balcony by the door. He opens the door when Derek reaches the house and tells Derek to put his son on the couch. 

As much as Stiles wants to stay awake and hear what they’re talking about he falls asleep again within minutes of his body hitting the couch cushions. 

Derek gives the sheriff the rundown of where and how he found Stiles and how he brought him to the loft for a little while. When John asks about their connection Derek says that they’re in a relationship, dating. John just stiffly nods his head, shakes Derek’s hand, and thanks him for bringing Stiles home. 

Derek comes over to the couch and kisses Stiles’ forehead telling him, ‘I love you’ before heading out to his car.  Stiles wakes up to the warm lips on his head and groggily gives his best rendition of his puppy dog face. It doesn’t work because Derek runs his hand through Stiles’ hair and leaves the house.

Stiles pretends to stay asleep and he’s able to convince his dad that he’s out. He pretends to be asleep until he actually does fall asleep again. It doesn’t last for long because he sits straight up with a scream halfway out of throat. He takes a deep breath and manages to convince himself that his nightmare isn’t real. Derek isn’t dead and Sean isn’t in his room pinning him to the ground, laughing as he tries to escape. He’s in his house and safe. 

Stiles looks around and sees his dad in his office and after a moment they awkwardly make eye contact. He looks down at the blankets over his body and looks at his shoulder eternally grateful that Derek bandaged his shoulder like the world depended on it. There’s no sign of any blood stain on the sweatshirts or the couch underneath him. It doesn’t mean that he’s not in pain though, because god it hurts. 

His dad walks out of his office and gives him a concerned look before he sits on the coffee table so he’s right in front of Stiles. He takes a deep breath before he starts talking. 

“Stiles, you are going to answer every last one of these questions, and you’re going to tell the truth.”

_ Ooohhh shit, you’re done _

Stiles looks away, staring at a patch of the carpet. His dad snaps his fingers in front of his eyes, getting his attention. “Eyes up here mister. Before we even start this conversation I want you to know that you’re grounded for the next two weeks. You are going to school and coming home. No going out with Scott, or your boyfriend, or any of your other friends.”

His dad knows he’s dating Derek. A werewolf ex-convict who’s 21 years old. He wishes he could fall through the floor. 

“First of all, where were you for the past day? I know you didn’t go to school because I got another call concerning your  _ nine _ absences this year. Nine? His dad looks really angry and Stiles eyes get misty, not enough to form tears, but he could at the drop of a hat. 

He speaks very quietly, praying that his dad can hear him because he doesn’t think he can make himself talk any louder. “I stayed home and then I went to the pawn shop in Parkersville.”

His dad rubs his large calloused hand over his face, “Stiles I know all of that already. Where’d you go after you left the shop? Do you know how close I was to mobilizing a unit to go look for you? You and Scott have told me that there’s a murdering people-eating monster out there and you go and pull some disappearing act on me! I got home really late last night and your door was shut so I didn’t even know you weren’t home until this morning when I went to go to work and you weren’t awake yet. You scared the living shit out of me Stiles!”

“I’m sorry dad-”

“That’s still not an answer! Where were you?”

Stiles’ eyes are getting harder to see through. “I went to the woods and spent the night in the jeep.”

“You spent the night in the jeep? Is that the truth? Because Derek told me you were wet and cold which is why you switched clothes. Is  _ that  _ the truth?”

_ Already caught lying, you’re worthless. _

“Yeah, that’s the truth.”

“Stiles, you are on my last nerve. I’m worried about you day in and day out and then you go and pull a disappearing act without telling anyone where you’ve gone and you didn’t answer your phone. I called over a  dozen times Stiles!”

_ Eleven. He called eleven times. He’s exaggerating _

“You were gone! Gone Stiles! I thought that maybe those  _ things _ had gotten you!

_ Thing, singular in this case.  _

“I’m fine.”   
“Bullshit Stiles. How many lies are you telling me right now? How many?”

Stiles stays quiet because how is he supposed to answer that?  _ ‘A whole bunch dad. First there’s the fact that I enjoy cutting myself, I’m dating Derek, a male werewolf, I stole a bunch of money from your bank account. I’m not taking my medicine, I don’t eat, my grades are falling, I say that I’m okay, and I’m lying to you about all of it.’ _

His dad takes his silence at face value. “Are you serious Stiles? I’ve trusted you for a long time and just now I’m figuring out that all of this is your elaborate facade? And no thanks to you, how about the call from the pawn shop, Scott, Derek bringing you home?”

His dad looks extremely tense and all of a sudden John stands up and walks to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water a few moments later.

“Well first of all, how long have you been dating Derek? Because you’re still in high school and he’s what twenty three?”

At Stiles’ horrified expression his dad takes a sip of water. “I really don’t care that you’re dating anyone, I am upset that you never told me.”   
“Um, he’s twenty one, and we’ve been together for a while now.” His dad raises his eyebrows so Stiles keeps talking, “Like, a couple of weeks, about two months, give or take a little bit.”

“Okay, you’re grounded so no Derek for the next two weeks. He’s not coming over after school and not driving you to school and you’re not going over to his place. And when you’re ungrounded the door stays open at all times and you let me know that he’s coming over before he gets here.”

Derek’s all that keeps me together, without him…

_ This is going to be great _

“Dad! I need him!”

“Well maybe you should have thought everything through a little bit more before you made your choices! And you don’t  _ need  _ him. You were doing better before he became a part of your life! Have you noticed that it’s the last two months when everything’s gone to hell? I don’t think that’s a coincidence. So no Derek.”

Stiles takes a drink of his water because his stomach is upset and the last thing he needs is a hunger pain and growling stomach.

“Now that that’s out of the way, what happened yesterday?”

When he doesn’t answer John continues, “Because I’ve got one half of a story and it isn’t placing you in the best light. Samuel Walker claims that you came into his shop demanding a necklace and you became and I quote, “hysterical and started crying” when he didn’t have it. You cracked one of his display cases and stormed out of the shop and then disappeared for a day before I got a call from Derek saying that you were at his place and probably sick.”

John leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Can you explain any part of that for me?”

When Stiles doesn’t answer John rubs a frustrated hand over his face. “Do you even know what this means for me at work? The station needs to file a report against you and you’re going to be facing charges of property damage and harassment.”

Stiles chooses to remain quiet for more than five minutes, but his dad just sits there, seeming to understand that at some point Stiles will talk when he’s ready. 

Stiles speaks softly, so much so that his dad can’t hear what he says. 

“Stiles, louder please, I can’t hear a word you’re saying.”

“He had mom’s necklace” Stiles says, voice showing detachment from the current conversation. “Mr. Walker had mom’s necklace at his pawn shop and I went to get it back but he sold it.”

“What necklace Stiles? Mom’s necklace?” His dad’s voice has softened, talking to him like he’s a child, “We gave it to Martha after she passed, you know that buddy.”

Stiles slowly shakes his head, “No, a wendigo stole it when their car crashed and she died. It sold the necklace to the pawn shop and I went back to buy it but Walker had already sold it.”

“So that’s why the money is missing from the jar and you pulled money from the bank account?”

Stiles barely responds, “yeah.”

“Where’s the money now? It needs to go back in the bank and apparently I need to change some security measures on my bank account.”

_ You broke what little trust you had left _

“Somebody stole it outside of the shop.”

_ Another lie _

_ One more lie, one more lie. One day you’re going to drown in all of the lies. _

“All of it Stiles?” His dad looks very concerned, probably about the money and not him. “Did you get hurt? When did it happen?”

Stiles stays quiet, trying to keep to himself in control

_ Another lie _

_ You’re going to pay for this in the end you fatass. He’s going to figure all of this out and you’re going to be in so much shit. _

“Stiles, you could have told me. I could have helped.”

He’s taken aback by his son’s brutal response.

“I honestly didn’t think that you would care.” Stiles lays back down and rolls away from his father, leaving a shocked parent gaping at his son’s hateful words. 

“Why in the world would you think that I don’t care about this?”

Stiles stays laying on the couch, face towards a cushion. “You didn’t care when she was dying, why would you care now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that?  
> I absolutely love feedback and comments but please be nice. I'm doing better but it's just been a month anniversary of the friend's passing. Still have some rough days so in the reality of getting chapters posted, they're going to be little bit shorter but should be able to be updated more frequently. I'm thinking after this story is done to start doing album stories. Like write a story for every song of Twenty One Pilots' vessel in a series and a story for each song off of The Black Parade. I think it'll be cool but I'm not going to start until I'm finished with this story.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell, you're all going to hate me so much  
> This chapter took guts to write.  
> Aka the chapter with the tension over Claudia's death

John walks quickly moves to the couch and rolls over Stiles, revealing red tear tracks on the teen’s face. “Of course I cared! I loved her with my whole heart Stiles! She was my  _ Wife _ !”

Something inside of Stiles snaps for the second time in the past two days and suddenly sadness and emptiness are replaced with anger and built-up resentment.

Hatred that he was alone in a hospital when he was only ten years old. Anger at his father for drinking his nights away. 

And quite honestly he’s kept it bottled up for years and he can’t stop himself from saying what’s been brewing around in his head since the day his mom died.

Stiles shakes off some of the blankets Derek had wrapped him in. “Oh, so that’s why you worked at the station more than you visited her in the hospital.”

“Where is this coming from? I had a job Stiles! I saw her every second that I could. I had to pay the hospital bills and keep food on the table!”

Stiles rolls his eyes and sits up on the couch, angrily pointing to the kitchen, “Which table? Because there was never food on our table! All I saw were microwave meals in the garbage. I spent most of the nights at Scott’s house where Melissa made dinner for me like a real family should have!”

His dad stands up and so does Stiles as they stand toe to toe “Mieczysław Stilinski-”

Stiles is yelling at the top of his lungs, not intimidated by his dad, “I was the one who kept her company! I was the one who loved her! And I saw all of those empty bottles on the counter, the glasses in the sink. You were drowning yourself in alcohol while I was trying to deal with everything!”

His dad let’s out a breathy laugh, “It wasn’t easy raising you and it wasn’t easy losing your mother at the same time!” 

Stiles goes to defend himself but before he can his dad's talking again, “You weren’t a perfect child, always getting in trouble, so much freaking energy all of the time, so nosy, all of those stupid doctors appointments.”

“That wasn’t my fault! I was a kid!” 

“A normal ten year old knows how to behave Stiles! You were out of control!”

“You were supposed to be my dad. You were supposed to take care of me! I was losing her too!”

Despite the sharp pain in his arm, Stiles is gesturing wildly as he rages, “Did you even really love either of us? You weren’t even there when she died! I was there when the nurses and doctors ran into her room and I stood all alone in those fucking hallways holding a damn balloon when they told me that she died. Where the hell were you? You didn’t even care enough to be there when she  _ died _ . How can you say that you loved us? How?” 

Stiles is screaming at his dad and his dad is yelling right back at him. 

“I loved her more than I loved you!”

They both go silent and Stiles stares shocked at his dad while John seems horrified at the words that just came from his mouth. 

_ WORTHLESS _

_ FAT FUCK, WORTHLESS, BAD, BAD, BAD, WORTHLESS _

_ BAD  _

_ FUCK UP _

_ BAD _

_ BAD _

_ BAD  _

_ SO BAD _

 

“If you loved her more, how much did you love me?” he whispers. 

Stiles shoves his dad’s hand off of his shoulder and leaves the living room on shaky feet, his dad shouting apologies and lies about how he loves him. How he always loved him and his mom and how he still does. Stiles walks into his room, holding in the painful sobs until his door is closed and locked and he can’t hear his dad over his own hysterical crying. 

He is aware of his dad walking up the stairs and pounding on his door, saying how sorry he is and how much he loves him. 

He can’t think straight through his heart wrenching crying. He doesn’t stop for a long time, long enough that he gets a splitting headache and he doesn’t have any more tears so he’s just making hideous noises into  his hands that are covering his face. Every time that he thinks it’s going to stop, he starts crying again. Every time the pain lessens a little bit it comes back full force and he’s left grounded to the floor, unable to make himself do anything other than exist even though he doesn’t want to. 

_ ‘I loved her more than I loved you’ _

There’s a solution to all of this. One that he’s still to scared to go through with, but in enough pain to think about and plan. So instead he goes over all of the ways he can kill himself, and honestly there’s quite a few options. 

By the time Stiles is able to stand up without feeling like he’s going to pass out it’s nearly dinner time. Or what would be dinner time for anyone who eats. 

He walks out of his bathroom and he can still tell that his dad is outside of his door. His dad must also know that he’s walking around because he starts talking to him again. 

“Stiles, will you open the door? I need to see you. I need to talk to you Stiles. What I said isn’t true, it’s not even close to true. I’m so sorry. I’ve had a long day. I love you so much Stiles.” It sounds like he’s telling the truth, but how is he supposed to trust his dad? 

It also sounds like his dad is crying.

Instead of responding, Stiles walks around his room and puts together his kit. Or he tries to. All of his regular spots where he keeps his blades are gone. There’s none in the bottom of his third drawer of his desk. There isn’t one in his wallet anymore and nothing in his nightstand. There’s no scissors on top of his organiser or a box cutter in the pile of things by his door. For a split second he thinks that his dad  must have found out but then he realizes that Derek must have gone through his things. 

Fuck Derek! Fuck him because he’s taken away the only way he knows how to feel better without the werewolf himself. Stiles looks around his room and finds two blades where they’ve been cleverly hidden. One taped on the bottom of a drawer in the bathroom and one that you have to take a drawer out of his organizer to get to. 

He can still hear his dad talking as he rummages around his room, proud of himself in a sickening way for being so clever. 

Quickly Stiles strips himself from his shirt and bandages around his arm and takes the his blade in and rips through the barely formed tissue that’s trying to hold his skin together. Immediately they start to bleed heavily and soon he’s ruined this shirt. It fucking hurts. It’s never hurt this bad before. His cuts are deep and long. It hurts and there’s something relaxing in the fallout, seeing the hurt he feels portrayed on his skin where he can see instead of suffering silently inside his own head. 

Maybe he’s crazy. He feels like he’s crazy. 

These are so deep that he might actually have to get stitches if Derek sees that he’s opened them again. They’re deeper than he thought and the only reason he got away with it a while ago was because they weren’t as established as they are now.

He knows that the blood is soaking through on his arm the cuts are too big to stop bleeding right away after he dug into them so much. So he’s left to his thoughts. 

Logically he’s able to convince himself to get up and hop in the shower. He washes off the grime and the dirty feeling he has on his skin. The blood flow slows down to a trickle which he’s able to control with pressure and a towel. 

The fan in the bathroom and the febreze take away the metallic smell of the blood and he puts his disgusting shirt in a plastic bag in his closet, swearing to throw it out when he gets a chance.

_ You always knew that you were just a leftover. Just a problem for him, a kid that he had to raise on his own after she died. And now you have the proof. _

I knew it

_ I know you did _

I was right

_ You were right _

I can’t see Derek

_ You’re not supposed to _

I can’t go out of my room

_ You could if you really wanted to _

His dad jiggles the doorknob and fear courses through Stiles at the thought that his door might open. It doesn’t but Stiles pays more attention to what he’s saying. 

“Come on Stiles, open the door for me. I have something to show you. It’s important.”

Stiles tries his best to ignore him and goes into his bathroom and texts Derek. 

 

Stiles- Please come get me

Derek-  Why? What happened?

Stiles- Please

Derek- I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Stiles- Don’t use the door, come to the window. Turn off the car headlights

Derek- I’m leaving now. Hang on

 

But he can’t. He can’t hang on for ten minutes with his own dad’s words ringing in his ears. It explains a lot actually. Why he was always at Scott’s house instead of his own. Why his dad stopped making him lunches for school, had him stay with Martha and Bob so much. Why Bob was the only one cheering for him at his baseball games, why Martha was the one to kiss his forehead at night even when he insisted he was too old for gooey stuff like that. 

The blood on his shoulder isn’t calming  like it usually is. Right now it’s a reminder of how insignificant and pathetic he is. Stiles opens the drawer under his sink and grabs the bottle of diet pills he bought last week and opens them, downing the pills with a glass of water. 

Derek’s going to try to make him eat something. 

_ You don’t deserve to eat _

_ If you were skinnier your dad would love you _

_ FAT _

_ Fat fucking cow, huge, fat, disgusting, worthless _

_ You can’t do anything right _

_ You’re just a waste of space, who needs you around? _

_ Nobody _

_ That’s who _

_ Nobody _

He walks into his room and can see the shadow of his father still standing outside of his door. 

“I love you Stiles, I really do. Open the door for me. Please.”

God does he want to believe his dad, but angry words are concealed thoughts. How long has his dad been feeling this way?

_ Since she died _

When his dad doesn’t get a response Stiles can hear him drop to his knees which makes Stiles stop moving. What’s he doing?

There’s a small, torn piece of paper that’s slid under his door. 

“It’s a beautiful picture. I remember standing on the beach with my arms wrapped around both of you. How much love I had for you and your mother.” His dad sounds remorseful as he keeps talking. “She loved taking you to the ocean in the summer. It made me so happy to have us all be together.” 

Stiles walks across his room and crouches, ignoring the pain in his knees, to pick up the paper. He already knows what it is, but he hopes that he’s wrong. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of what I said. I love you so much. You’re my whole world Stiles.”

He turns the paper over and there’s his picture. He must have left it in the pawn shop when Mr. Walker called the station. 

It looks nothing like what it used to. There’s a rip almost down the center of the photo splitting his face in half. It has a shoe print on it. Someone stepped on it. It’s covered in dirt and it doesn’t make him feel calm anymore, it reminds him of everything he’s done wrong.

Stiles haphazardly throws clothes into a bag and puts on another sweatshirt. Mint gum, a toothbrush, some more pills, a blade hidden in a pair of socks. And the extra blade in case Derek finds the first one. 

On an impulse he crumples up the picture and throws it into the garbage.

As he’s zipping his bag shut there’s a light tap on the glass and he walks over to it, making his footsteps loud to mask the noise of him opening the window. Derek’s sitting on the window sill and leans in to give Stiles a tight hug. 

Derek’s practically choking on the pungent smell. How doesn’t know what’s happened since he left, but it’s clearly been bad. Stiles look and smells close to death and he can hear the sheriff outside of Stiles’ door talking about how he’s sorry for something.

He whispers to the teenager, “Come here, we’ll go back to the loft. You’ll be okay with me.”

Stiles gives his bag to Derek who throws it over his shoulder. Stiles goes over to his door and waits a minute before he says, “Night dad, see you in the morning.” Then he turns off the lights in his room and walks back over to Derek who is now in his room by his bed. 

Derek hops out of his window and onto the roof and Stiles follows after him, quietly shutting his window. Derek holds onto Stiles as they jump down together. 

_ You’re grounded, remember dumbass? You’re going to get caught. You’re going to be in so much shit. Disappearing again? You’re asking for it.  _

Stiles takes out his phone and texts his dad a few simple words ‘Spending the night at Derek’s’. Within a few seconds his dad sees his message and just leaves it on ‘read’. Stiles waits for a response but doesn’t get one. 

  
  


John looks at the text he just got from his son and tries to open the door, but it’s still locked. 

“Stiles? Are you in there?” With no response he decides that it’s safe to assume that Derek came in through the window and left with Stiles that way too. 

Stiles is technically grounded but he can’t imagine the pain that he’s in. He’s already insecure enough as it is and this would only cause so much more hurt. John wishes that Stiles had opened his door so they could talk and he could explain how what he said was a lie, told only out of frustration and exaggeration.

The older man walks around the house and goes into the basement. He heads straight to an old desk that has lots of random things in it, including what he’s looking for. John goes back upstairs and goes to Stiles’ room and using the extra key unlocks his door. He looks around the bedroom and the bathroom and doesn’t notice anything that would arouse suspicion. There’s a faint smell but the sheriff chalks it up to something outside. 

John then walks back to the door and takes out a screwdriver. Taking out the screws, eventually there is only a hole where his doorknob used to be. Tomorrow he’ll go to the store and buy a new one without a lock. He just can’t have Stiles not opening his door. What if something happened to him? What if he fainted again and John couldn’t find the key. Access is a necessity.

Stiles is going to be so angry at him, but as a father there isn’t any doubt that he’s doing the right thing. 

John moves downstairs and puts everything back in the old desk. When he walks through the kitchen after locking the front door he looks at the liquor cabinet and feels a surge of guilt. He had done a lot of drinking when Claudia was in the hospital and Stiles wasn’t home. 

But Stiles didn’t know why. After the disease was determined to be hereditary and he was told that Stiles had a likely chance of having it present when he grew up, John couldn’t stand the thought of losing his son too. So he made an impulsive decision and distanced himself from his family, trying to deal with everything on his own. He had no idea how much Stiles remembered. 

He’s a terrible father. 

John walks upstairs and turns off all of the lights, falling into his bed for a fitful sleep.

  
  


Stiles and Derek walk to the black car that’s practically invisible with the moonless sky. Derek’s hand is incredibly tight around his own small hand. He must look pretty bad if Derek’s this tense.

They drive in silence for a while before Derek starts to talk. 

“What happened with your dad? I’m assuming your dad.” When he doesn’t get any form of a reaction Derek looks at Stiles every few seconds and notices the teenager. He’s skinnier than he was even a few days ago and his collarbones are prominent. Derek knows that if he took his shirt off he could faintly count all of his ribs and see his sharp hipbones. His eyes look sunken in and have large dark bags underneath them.

He doesn’t even have to ask if Stiles has hurt himself again because the smell of blood is overwhelming, the most that he’s ever noticed. It’s fresh and still hasn’t stopped all of the way.

 

“Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are at the loft, they don’t have anywhere else to go tonight. I’ll make sure that they leave you alone.” Derek looks apologetic. 

“No, it’s okay.”

“Okay, just let me know if you want to go upstairs at any point, you know that they’ll stay downstairs.”

Soon they’re into the city as they drive through the streets and they pull into the lot. It’s a little eerie to see three figures standing in the huge glass window panes, and knowing that they’re your friends who just heard the car pull up from a quarter of a mile away. 

Derek turns the car off and they sit there for a moment, just listening to each other breathe. Stiles’ breath is laboured and rattly. Derek looks at him concerned, “Did your dad take you to a doctor?”

Stiles looks at him and quietly replies, “No, didn’t get the chance.”

“Okay, so some cold medicine when we get inside. I’ll send them to the store to grab a few packages. We don’t usually need it.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Stiles can’t even finish his sentence without coughing come more. 

Derek looks at him with a strange expression, “Yeah, nice try. Let’s get you inside.”

He unbuckles and then Derek is already at his door, opening it with his duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Stiles shakes off Derek’s hand when he reaches out to help Stiles get upstairs. The teen doesn’t say anything but nods his head towards the glass, where all three of them are still standing. Derek just huffs and shuts the car door behind him and locks it. They make it upstairs without a problem, although Derek’s hand is ever present behind his back, just waiting for him to fall backwards. 

And he nearly does fall two times which isn’t very surprising. The last thing he had to eat was a salad and some very thin apple slices two days ago. 

Derek must know this because he whispers to Stiles, “You need to eat something after we get inside and you’ve had some medicine.” Stiles doesn’t look at him but shallowly nods his head. There’s not too much of a point in arguing. He does need to eat something, he wants to be perfect, not dead. Or maybe he does want to die. He wants to vanish.

Derek slides the giant door open and all of his friends are already trying to look like they weren’t just watching them out the window. Stiles knows that he looks like a wreck and probably doesn’t smell any better. He’s embarrassed that they’re seeing him like this. Derek walks around and Stiles follow him like a lost puppy regardless to the fact that he knows the way around here like the back of his hand. 

His friends keep their distance, noting the odd smell coming from Stiles and the distinct metallic scent of blood hanging in the air around the pair. Stiles stands near the staircase where his bag is while Derek talks to his pack. 

“Can you guys run to the store for me? I need hydrogen peroxide, gauze, cold medicine, medical tape, tissues, butterfly strips, and tylenol.” The three teens listen to the list and Isaac looks very bothered. 

“Derek, what‘s going on with Stiles? Why do you need all of that stuff?” Isaac tries to get Stiles to look at him, but the human keeps his eyes glued on the ground. “And why the fuck does Stiles smell like blood?”

Body walks up to Stiles and doesn’t touch him, just looks at him and blatantly smells him. Stiles can see the gears turning in his head and for a moment is terrified that Boyd knows. He always seems to know everything. But just as fluidly as Boyd walked up to him, he leaves to put his shoes on  

Derek keeps his voice level but it’s strained, “Don’t worry about it.” 

“You’re keeping something from us and he’s our friend too”, Isaac states, clearly bothered by the secrecy.

“Not now Isaac, just get everything and grab some food on your way back, there’s almost nothing here.”

Isaac squares his shoulders and glares at his alpha, “What’s going on with Stiles, Derek? Something’s wrong.”

“Not now Isaac” Derek says with a slight low growl. It makes the teen more frustrated but Erica gets in between the two of them and pushes Isaac towards the door where their shoes are. Boyd grabs the keys to Erica’s car and in moments the three of them are out of the loft. 

_ You’re making them fight. You’re tearing the pack apart.  _

Derek walks over to the kitchen and gets out a mug. Stiles realizes after a moment that he’s making tea. He’s grateful because he wasn’t going to ask for it but really wanted some. The draft coming from the big door and windows doesn’t really bother the wolves, but to his ever-shrinking frame it’s freezing.

Derek looks at Stiles and feels so lost. How can someone as brilliant and nice as Stiles do this to himself? He can smell the fresh blood which means that the teens did too and that’s bound to bring more trouble from Isaac later. 

They’re pulled apart from their individual thoughts when the tea kettle whistles. Derek hands Stiles a mug of hot green tea with one hand and grabs his other hand, leading him upstairs. Stiles sits on the bed as Derek stands and looks at him. He’s being scrutinized and the attention is unwanted, making him squirm and move. 

Some of the tea spills onto his hands and if Derek hadn’t grabbed the mug it would have shattered on the floor. His recently stopped bleeding starts again and Derek takes in the smell. It’s much stronger than he’s used to. Stiles’ breath hitches slightly and Derek notices everything. 

The young man looks at his boyfriend with unveiled concern and a little bit of fright. “Stiles, what did you do?”

Stiles looks anywhere and everywhere except for the man in front of him.

_ You cut, not that hard to understand.  _

Stiles stays still as Derek starts to undress his upper body. The sweatshirt comes off and then his shirt and then all that’s left is the soaked bandages. Completely soaked and even Stiles is taken back by what he’s done.

He doesn’t move when Derek tries to unwind the gauze but gets frustrated and cuts them off with a claw. When the werewolf can see the cuts, opened, deeper, and wider than he saw them earlier his breath catches in his throat. 

How can he do this to himself? It tears his heart apart every time he smells blood from anywhere near Stiles. Thoughts run around in his head, keep Stiles safe, he needs stitches, hospital, take him to a hospital, not in Beacon Hills, urgent care in the next city, they have to go now, still bleeding, insurance, bills, Stiles, psych evaluation, hospitalization, psych ward, blood, too much blood.

His wolf is confused and feeling threatened, what’s hurting his partner? There’s no threat or opponent. It wants to protect and care for and destroy whatever is causing him pain. It’s just hard to do when the person you love is also the person who is hurting the person you love. His wolf can’t make sense of everything that’s happening and it’s putting him on edge.

In a matter of seconds Derek swiftly leaves his bedroom and disappears into his bathroom and comes back with a towel and takes Stiles arm and wraps the fabric around his wounds. Stiles looks up but Derek isn’t taking his eyes off of what he’s doing. When his arm is wrapped Derek carefully pulls one of his large shirts over Stiles’ head and leads him downstairs. 

“What were you thinking?” Derek asks him as he drapes a large coat over Stiles’ shoulders, not able to have him wear it due to keeping pressure on his arms. “What happened Stiles?”

_ Your father said he doesn’t love you, that’s what happened. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be mean. I understand frustrated and angry but please don't be rude. The plot's going to pick up some more. I'm going to keep doing shorter chapters with more frequent postings. Lots of love to everyone (even if you're currently mad at me).


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urgent Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer than I had planned between chapters, but it's here.

They’re going to a hospital. Or urgent care. Or somewhere. Derek can’t think clearly with Stiles by his side. All he knows is that those cuts are too deep and he needs stitches. Honestly, his boyfriend has needed stitches a couple of times. He’s just been too scared to do anything and now he can’t ignore this anymore. He’s holding Stiles’ too thin and too cold hand as they walk down the stairs. What happened between him and his dad? Derek can’t imagine John hurting Stiles so it must have been an argument. 

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by Stiles’ coughing. He can hear the teen’s lungs rattle. Stiles wasn’t in his jeep for the whole night because Derek found him cold and wet, shivering despite the heat being on full blast in the jeep. They’ll be lucky if his cold doesn’t turn into something worse. So he holds onto Stiles’ hand tighter and pulls him towards the bottom of the stairs a little bit faster. 

Hospital or urgent care? It’s not too late so it’s urgent care. They walk outside and Derek remembers his pack. He sits Stiles in the car and buckles him. Starts the camaro and turns the heat all the way on and the seat heater on high. He shuts his door and takes a breath of the cold, fresh air, leaning against his car. What’s he going to do?

As he’s watching the cars pass by on the road he remembers that his pack is going to be coming back so he texts his betas.

 

Derek- Going to the doctor. Stiles is sick. Eat dinner and do your homework. 

Isaac- What’s going on?

Erica- Okay

Derek- Later

Isaac- Better be one hell of an explanation

 

Derek frustratedly runs a hand through his hair and slides his phone into his jacket pocket, pushing his body off of the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. They’ll be okay until Derek and Stiles come back. It’s a school night and he has Netflix now so they’ll occupy themselves with something or another.

 

The car reeks and he tries not to give any visual reaction that might makes Stiles upset. For a moment he wishes that he had a normal boyfriend. That they wouldn’t hurt themselves and they’d eat regular meals. He wishes that they would love to cuddle and not be wary of being touched, talk and smile more, that there’s more light in their eyes than dullness. 

He snaps himself out of it almost instantly when he realizes that that’s what he wants. But that’s what Stiles is when he’s healthy. Stiles smiles and laughs and rough-houses with everyone and loves being in contact with somebody. 

He justs wants Stiles to be healthy. 

For another moment he’s upset with himself for not letting Stiles know he felt earlier. Maybe this all could have been avoided, maybe he could have let Stiles know just how amazing he really is, maybe this is all his-

Derek stops himself. He can’t think like this. He learned that after the fire. And then again living with Laura. It happened and there’s nothing he could have done. Beating himself up isn’t going to help anything: it isn’t going to help Stiles. And right now the brown-haired teen needs him more than ever. So he leans over and kisses Stiles’ forehead and gets the car out of the parking lot. 

 

Stiles lays his cold head against the car window and watches the streetlights pass in and out of his vision. He doesn’t know where they’re going exactly, but he knows that they’re going to a doctor somewhere. There’s an underlying fear that it’s going to be more than getting stitches. What if they put him in the psycho ward? What if they call his dad, what if his dad finds out, Scott finds out, people at school find out?

“Derek…” Derek takes his eyes off the road to look at Stiles, “where are we going?”, Stiles’ still cold hand is engulfed in Derek’s large right hand as he continues driving. 

“Urgent care in Dillan, you need stitches.”

“Yeah, I know. Just wondering” The warm hand squeezes his own but it does nothing to calm the fear in his heart. 

There’s this intense nervousness because of what’s going to happen, but a small part of him is relieved. He needs stitches, and he knows it. But what if this ruins his life? People can’t know. They’ll think he’s crazy. Stiles isn’t crazy, he’s in control. He controls his life, it’s not his fault that people don’t understand. They just won’t understand. 

“So happened yesterday? Scott gave me the basics from your dad.” They’re all working together behind his back and Stiles almost has enough care in his body to roll his eyes. Right now he’s just tired.

Stiles keeps his head on the glass. It’s easier to not have to see Derek’s eyes. He’s afraid of what he’ll see there. So he avoids the question. “What do you mean?” He knows quite well what Derek’s asking him about. What happend with your dad? What happened in the woods, why did you go to the woods? Were you trying to accomplish something? What started all of this? 

Why do you do this to yourself?

“Well how about from the start, what happened before I picked you up this morning? Why were you out on the reservation?”

He doesn’t want to think about it again. How everything was planned and then went to hell in a matter of five minutes. Derek stays quiet and waits for an answer that he’s determined to get. They drive for a mile or two before Derek says his name again.

Stiles sighs lightly and takes his head off the window to look at the road. “Do you remember the necklace from the that night at the house? On Brooks road?” When Derek nods and gives an encouraging hand squeeze he takes a deep breath and continues. “The necklace….it..was...my mom’s.” A shudder runs down his spine at his failure, how he lost it. “And Sean said that he sold it at a pawn shop-”

Derek interrupts him, “Sean, as in Sean Hansen, the wendigo? When did you talk to him?!” He’s taken his eyes off of the road and looks absolutely pissed and Stiles shrinks in on himself, although it isn't his fault. 

“When you and everyone went out looking for them. The night that I got lost. Sean found me and that’s why I was all beat up.”

_ More than normal anyways _

_ Freak _

Derek doesn't talk again so Stiles takes it as his cue to keep explaining. “So I looked up the pawn shops near here and the price valuations. Made sense for him to go where they would pay the most for it. It was still shitty. But I went to get it and the owner wanted cash or proof that it was mine.”

They’re getting on the main road out of town as Stiles keeps talking, albeit with a slight waver in his voice. “So I came back with a picture of it and the money with some extra as bargaining. But...it was..gone. He sold it apparently. To some guy as a present for his girlfriend or something.”

Stiles pulls his hand out of Derek’s and puts it on his lap. “And I guess I kinda lost it. I cracked one of his display cases and he called the cops. Which is how my dad knew, who apparently called Scott, who called you. I knew I couldn’t go home so I just drove for a while. I bought some whiskey and drove to the reservation, hiked out to the middle of bumfuck-nowhere and drank until I couldn’t think anymore.”

Derek makes a disapproving hum and tries to grab Stiles hand again but he just puts them in his sweatshirt. He easily skips over the part of hurting himself.

“Passed out on the ground and woke up when it started to rain. I fell asleep again and woke up in the morning. There was a note in my wallet and the money was gone. I made it back to the jeep at some point but my tires were dead. And I guess that’s when you called.”

“Okay, who was the note from?” Derek knows, but hopes that he’s wrong. “And how much money?”

“Sean.”

“How much money did he take? And what did the note say?”

Stiles takes a breath and wishes that Derek would stop asking so many questions, it’s making his head hurt and due to his stature he’s still a little hungover.

“Four hundred fifteen dollars. And it said ‘good luck getting home’ which made sense after I got back to the jeep.”

His cuts are starting to ache more, the adrenaline and last traces of hysteria fading from his body. They pull into Dillan and are on the main road when Derek says something, “You didn’t have to do all of this alone Stiles. We’re all here for you.”

_ Liar _

_ They’re not all here for you.  _

_ At least not your dad _

_ He Hates you _

_ He doesn’t love you, never has, never will. Doesn’t want a fucked up son. _

Those are the last thoughts running through his head as the camaro comes to a stop in a parking lot in front of the urgent care building. Suddenly he’s terrified. As soon as he steps foot in there everything is out of his control. And it shakes him to his core. Everything could break right now. Derek opens his door but Stiles doesn’t unbuckle his seatbelt, cement blocks holding him down, unwilling to budge. 

“Stiles...you need stitches. We don’t even have to talk about it anymore tonight. But we have to get those looked at.” Derek leans in and unbuckles his seatbelt for him and gently takes his hand a pulls him from the car with Stiles’ minimal cooperation. 

He dares to take a look at Derek and all he sees is worry. It makes his stomach hurt more. Stiles grabs his outstretched hand and when the car locks it feels like his heart has dropped to his feet.

_ Run _

Run

_ Run! _

Run!

Every part of him is screaming to get away. Logically he knows that he can’t outrun Derek but it’s the idea of escape that’s toying with his mind. Even though he wants to get back to the loft he keeps putting one foot in front of another, by Derek’s side until they walk into the bland cream colored office with green chairs and a receptionist who greets them with a smile. 

Her smile says friendly but her voice says she wants to be done with work for the day. “Hi, what brings you in today?”

Derek looks to Stiles to answer, it is his body after all and his actions that have brought them here. But after a moment when Stiles makes it clear he isn’t going to talk Derek speaks to the woman. ‘He’s got some cuts that we think need stitches. We didn’t want to go to the emergency room.”

The woman instantly calls over a physician and they are swept into an intake room where Stiles hands over his insurance card. She asks for his date of birth and home address, the usual stuff. It’s when she asks him to show her his cuts that Stiles tenses up. But there’s no going back now, he’s here and he’s also probably sure that they won’t let him leave, and even if they would, Derek certainly wouldn’t. 

He shrugs off Derek’s coat as the doctor puts on gloves and her eyes widen when she sees the towel. She’s quick to strip away the layers as she asks several questions. “When did this happen? How long have they been bleeding for?”

Derek can’t answer that so Stiles clears his throat, but his voice is barely audible. “About two hours, it took a while to get here and it was a while before I called Derek.”

Derek nods his head, “I brought him here as soon as I found out.”

Stiles reads her nametag, ‘ Doctor Janet Anderson’, such a normal name. Nothing weird about it, nothing weird about her. And here she is dealing with him, who does not have a normal name and is definitely weird and troubled. 

“So what happened? Was this an accident, outdoor injury…”

Derek does say this one with reluctance, “self-injury” and as soon as the words arer out his mouth he’s terrified. He won’t be able to stand Stiles away from him, and he’ll fight fang and claw to keep Sties by his side. But if he needs something else, something he can’t get in Beacon Hills or Dillan or some other nearby city, he can’t stand in his way. 

Stiles being alive and well is his first priority. His wolf paces inside his mind, angry and thinking of the doctor as a threat to Stiles. 

As Dr. Anderson prods around Stiles’ cuts, he hisses when she pulls the skin back a little to see how deep they are and Derek involuntarily growls, low and menacing, which he quickly covers as a cough. 

Stiles looks at him with wide eyes and mouths to him, ‘what the fuck’ and he does his best to look innocent and apologetic. He just can’t control every part of his wolf, despite  how hard he tries.

And the fact that he hasn’t had a serious relationship in years just heightens his protectiveness. 

 

Stiles sits on the cold examination chair with his arm propped on an armrest as the doctor pokes her fingers around his skin. It’s uncomfortable to say the least. It’s one thing when he’s in control of who’s touching him, but right now he’s so out of his comfort zone and scared. 

When Derek says ‘self-injury’ he can feel the doctor tense for a second before moving again. If his arm wasn’t covered in blood she would probably have been able to tell by his scars. But she doesn’t skip another beat as she asks, “How did you cut yourself? Was it with a knife, razor blade, exacto knife…?

Stiles rolls his eyes internally, of course she has more questions. He still speaks softly, as if his admittance will break the world. “Razor blade.”

“Are there any other cuts that need stitches?” 

There were some a few weeks ago, but nothing that can be stitched together now. They’ve formed crusty shells on his skin. “No.”

“Okay, I’m going to have you take off yours shirt so we can get you into a gown.” Her brown hair is tied back into a ponytail, just like his mom’s way. Funny how everything is making him remember her. His shirt comes off and he’s cold, goosebumps forming on his skin. 

Derek looks extremely bothered standing next to where he’s sitting. Stiles shoots him a small smile, to let him know that he’s okay,  _ he’s not okay, _ but he doesn’t get a response, Derek remains still as stone next to him. Face not showing any expressions other than frustration and worry.

She doesn’t make any comments as he puts on the gown and Derek ties it in the back, his hands touching the easily visible spine littered with bruises. Once he’s changed the doctor tells them that they need to go to a different room, where he can lay down to make the process easier. 

The hallways are empty with examination room doors propped open, nobody waiting in them. The nurses sit at their station, laughing at something one of them said as he walks by.

_ They’re laughing at you. You’re a wreck. Too bad you didn’t slit your wrists instead. _

_ Weak and worthless. _

The cold tile floors sound like thunder as his feet hit the ground and Stiles makes a conscious attempt to walk lighter so he won’t attract unwanted attention. He imagines his feet causing ripples in the floor, like when a raindrop lands in still water and creates ripples. His fat is making ripples in the ground.

The room they walk into is slightly bigger, but this one has a stretcher in it and Stiles sits down and swing his legs onto the firm mat, getting his feet off of the cold floor. Derek sits by the gurney in a small chair, his impressive demeanor seemingly gone. 

The walls are cold, gray cabinets, off-colored green chairs, a small tv screen with alternating pictures. 

Stiles feels small. So small.

 

She moves around her small room, gathering a needle and syringe, a white packet, a blue paper, and gauze all on a rolling metal table. It feels so clinical and intimate at the same time.

“Okay Stiles, I’m going to have you roll onto your side just a little bit since the cuts wrap around your arm.”

Stiles shivers when he moves, the gown provides no heat whatsoever. 

_ Janet _ stands up and walks out of the room, leaving Stiles and Derek confused. But she returns moments later with several blankets that she arranges over Stiles’ frame. The nice gesture makes him able to tolerate her more.

“There, that should help. They really should turn the air conditioning off, it’s getting too cool at night.”

Stiles surprises himself when he responds, “yeah, it’s pretty cold.” 

He can’t see her face because he’s rolled onto his side, blankets tucked in up to his neck. He looks at Derek but he hasn't changed his face since they walked in here.

“Okay, just a little numbing here, it’s going to be a quick pinch and then you won’t feel anything.”

A quick pinch turns into five quick pinches as she makes sure that he can't feel anything near any of his cuts. Which he supposes he’s grateful for. 

“Let me know if you feel anything other than pressure, it shouldn’t feel sharp or painful.” They’re all very quiet as the doctor works, just their breathing and the sounds coming from the nurses in the hall. 

In what seems an eternity later Stiles feels a light pressure come off of his arm as she pulls her hands away. 

“That’s all that you need. You’re going to have to get them removed in a week to a week and a half, so we can schedule that now, or if you have a primary doctor who you would prefer. It’s up to you.” She walks around the room and cleans up, her lightly blood covered gloves being disposed of as she throws out gauze, and the blue plastic-covered papers. The needles goes in the ‘sharps’ bin. 

For a moment Stiles wonders what would happen if he broke into the container. Needles, sharp needles, and tons of them. Just as soon as he thinks of it he pushes the thoughts out. 

That’s been happening more recently too. Thinking of things he hasn’t thought about before. Like comparing razor blades and diet pill prices. 

Stiles sits up, legs crossed on the stretcher, “I have a doctor”

_ That you’re not going to go to _

“Okay, Stiles I have a couple of questions that I’m going to ask, I think it would be better if you were alone, but that’s up to you.”

His heart beats so hard Stiles feels like he might have to pick it up off the floor because it’s going to pound out of his chest. He takes a moment before looking at Derek. His boyfriend understands and gets up and walks out of the door, presumably just to stand in the hallway. But Stiles doesn’t want to have to look at him when  _ these _ questions are going to be thrown at him.

Janet sits on his rolling chair and turns to him with a practiced facial expression.

“So Stiles, I know that these are self-inflicted injuries, and I just have a few mandatory questions to ask.” She props her laptop on her legs and types something. “Okay, so first of all I’d like you to know that because of patient confidentiality I can’t tell anyone else about our conversation unless I feel that you are a threat to yourself or someone else. Secondly, because you are eighteen you have the right to withhold information, unless again, you are going to hurt yourself or someone else. Does that make sense?”

Stiles nods his head but honestly, he’s dating a werewolf. He can’t withhold any information even if he wanted to. Derek is definitely listening in on their conversation, and Stiles hopes that he’s a little ashamed of himself for eavesdropping.

“So, today did you harm yourself with the intent of suicide?”

”No.” What else is he supposed to say?

“Have you considered or are considering suicide?” She’s typing away, the keys clacking under her nails.

_ Yes _

“No.” 

Even more typing. If he looks right, he can see Derek’s shadow from walking in front of his door. Definitely eavesdropping.

“How is your support network? How many people know about your self-injury?”

Support network? Derek.

How many people know? One. Derek.

“Only a few people know.” Stiles avoids looking at the doctor, instead looking at the shadow, appearing and disappearing, and appearing again. 

“If I release you tonight will you be at risk of hurting yourself again?”

What a stupid question. Does she really expect him to confess that if he had his way he’d hurt himself as soon as he could? No, duh. 

“No, I’ll be okay.” He’s probably just far enough away that Derek can’t hear his heartbeat. 

There’s a few more questions of the same topic that Stiles answers on auto-pilot.

In the end her fingers stop moving over her keyboard and she walks over to her small counter with the sink, placing her laptop down on the grey countertop. 

“So Mr. Stilinski, you’re telling me that you’re going to be safe tonight and as this was not intended as a suicidal act, I can’t technically stop you from leaving after we do some paperwork. Do you feel okay leaving? We can arrange for you to spend the remainder of the evening under supervision if you would feel more comfortable.” 

Janet looks at him and Stiles can see the concern in her eyes. She knows. She knows that he’s lying so he can go back home and cut again. She knows that he’s just playing along to get out of the building.

Stiles feels guilty for a moment, manipulating her, but he can’t not. 

“I’ll be okay, I’m just going to go home.”

_ To the loft. Because you aren’t going home. _

_ Dad doesn’t want you to come home.  _

“Okay then, I’ll send these forms in, and you are free to get changed and head home.”

Janet walks out of the room, closing the door behind her. Stiles puts his cold feet on the floor and reaches behind him to untie the gown. His arm feels sore and when he looks he can see four small rows of stitches up near his shoulder. God how is he going to explain this if anyone asks?

His back aches when he bends over to grab his shirt. He’s been doing more sit-ups to get rid of his stomach fat. He’s been doing more of everything actually. More workout videos and more crunches and more lunges. Pretty much more of whatever he can do before school

It’s been harder for Stiles to sneak away during lunch to go for his run. Honestly he’s usually tired and doesn’t want to get the nasty looks everyone shoots him when he reappears in class, sweaty, but with a broken triumphant look in his eyes.

Stiles gets dressed and slides on Derek’s jacket. He absently minded checks his phone and has two messages. One from his dad and one from Isaac. Stiles ignores both of them and looks at the time. It’s already 11:30. They’ve been here longer than he thought.

Stiles opens the examination room door and expects to find the wolf right outside, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

_ He left you _

Stiles tells himself to shut-up and walks  

Around the nurses' desk, following the taped up pieces of paper pointing back to the waiting room, he finds Derek leaning against the counter by the admissions window. As Stiles rounds the corner he sees who Derek’s talking to. A young woman, Derek’s age, with long black hair pulled back into a braid. She’s beautiful. 

_ He’s bisexual. What did you expect? _

It hurts, and some part of him logically knows that Derek only really cares about him, but he can’t help his instant fears. 

She leans over her desk and hands Derek back his card with a piece of paper. 

_ It probably has her phone number on it.  _

It’s a receipt.

_ Still probably has her number on it.  _

Derek looks up and notices Stiles. He grabs his card and holds his hand out when Stiles gets close. 

“All set?” Derek leads him outside and into the car.

“I think so.” And that’s the truth. He’s not sure if he is okay. He’s shaken up for sure, he just had to get stitches, but another part of him, a deep and dark place in his chest, is proud of himself. 

He’s not good at lacrosse. 

He’s not good at being a son.

He’s not good at being a boyfriend.

He’s not good at protecting the people he loves.

He’s not good at being what everyone wants him to be. 

He’s not good enough for a lot of things. 

  
  
  
  


 

 

But he’s good at being messed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think.  
> And the last few sentences really hit home with me. For a long time I thought I was only good at being messed up, and I told myself these things all of the time.  
> Stiles is going to have to talk to his dad at some point too...  
> Take care of yourself and hold in there for me. Thank you all for still reading. Lots of love!


	25. Not a chapter, but I'd like you to read it

*This chapter will be replaced with the actual chapter 25 when I am able to finish it and I'll let you know when it's up

As of February 16th, 1:28am I am still alive. Things haven't been easy and I was nearly hospitalized for suicidal thoughts and plausible intent. I promise I am trying. Some people have stopped reading and I shouldn't have expected anything else, I haven't posted in 4 months. I am trying. Please don't give up on me. Every day is a struggle and I am trying to keep my head above the water.


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